


The Mirror of Erised

by Pitry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Character Death, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-03
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:03:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 92,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitry/pseuds/Pitry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only way to be certain you can defeat ultimate evil is when you've already done it before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to the Mirrorland

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel for my fic The Rewards of Perseverance. Some of the events of the Rewards of Perseverance are explained in this one, but others are only mentioned in passing. It should be possible to follow the plot without reading the first part, but I'm not sure how well... 
> 
> This fic follows more than one alternate universe. I hope the marking of what happens where is clear and not merely confusing.

**Part 1: I Show Not Your Face...  
Chapter 1: Welcome to the Mirrorland**

**24th December, 2010, 11:55 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

The corridors of the school were quiet. The classrooms and teachers’ offices were dark and abandoned, locked for the Christmas holidays. Except for a precious few, almost all teachers preferred to stay away from the school during this time of the year. Of the few teachers who stayed, an even smaller number was on patrol duty, making sure that the equally small number of students who stayed in the school were not out of bed after hours, and that no danger from outside had made its way in.

These were dangerous times; the students all knew that. It would have stood to reason, then, that there would be no need for patrols - the students should have been careful and listened to their teachers’ instructions. But the times had been dangerous since before most of the students were born. The oldest of them, perhaps, heard stories of how things were better back then, in the first years of their lives - but none of them were old enough to remember it.

No, all they knew, all their lives, was the danger outside, where He Who Must Not Be Named lurked. And the children, as children do, took it for granted. And so they still travelled the corridors at night, breaking school rules and - at times - being punished by the teachers.

On this night, however, only one person walked the corridors. He was not a student, nor was he a teacher. Had any of those seen him, they would have known he did not belong there. He had dark hair, that was starting to go grey around the edges. Underneath his glasses, he had green eyes, which surveyed the empty corridor nervously. His face was lined with years and worry and pain. On his forehead was a scar, shaped like a lightning bolt. 

He paused as he walked past the Neville Longbottom memorial corner. When he leaned closer to the glass case that sheltered the display, it shattered underneath his fingers. He jumped back, then continued to walk through the corridors, downstairs, past the kitchens and into the dungeons. There, he could see a lone light, shining in one of the teachers’ offices - the Potion Master’s office, Professor Severus Snape’s. But despite the light, the room was empty. The room’s occupant had left it in a hurry, not bothering with locking the door or turning off the light.

The unexpected guest walked into the room. He looked around the room - at the jars, full of slimy and unidentified creatures; at the pile of spell books and potion guides; at the walls, full of pictures. There were pictures on the desk too, pictures that depicted people moving and laughing. The man walked closer, and took one picture in his hand. The people it showed were Severus Snape’s family: his wife, Lily, her eyes green and bright and laughing at her surrounding, and their son, Harry, who looked so much like his father, with his long dark hair, crooked nose and dark eyes. But his smile was his mother’s - happy and gentle. He was obviously thoroughly enjoying the joke he shared with his parents. 

One of the jars behind the intruder exploded. He paid it no attention.He had eyes only for the photographs. 

After the first photograph, he turned to the other ones. Those showed Professor Snape’s friends, since childhood and well into adulthood. Most of his childhood pictures showed a handsome boy, with a somewhat haughty expression and lazy smile - Sirius Black. The oldest photographs showed them both, in their Slytherin colours, running around and laughing in the Hogwarts grounds. Other photographs from that time showed Severus with Lily - when she was still called Evans, he in his Slytherin green-and-silver, she in her Gryffindor red-and-gold; and often, the three of them together. As they grew somewhat older, another face often frequented these photographs - the slightly confused, surprised expression of Remus Lupin, who looked amazed to be included and loved, he too in Gryffindor red-and-gold. 

All the photographs showed the signs of a happy childhood.

The last of those, the newest one by the age of the people in it, was at the centre of the desk. It showed Severus with Lily and their son, surrounded by their old friends - Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, and their new friends - there was Ginny Weasley and Fred and George Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody and Horace Slughorn and even Albus Dumbledore was there. It was a party, and everyone wore their best robes and looked so happy. The young man, Severus Snape’s son, was holding a huge cake. The sign on the background read, _Congratulations Sev & Lily, 25 years of marriage!_.

The uninvited guest took the photograph in his hand. Behind him, another jar exploded, but he didn’t even seem to notice. His eyes never left the photograph. In the silence, alone in the room, he sat down on the floor, leaned on the wall, and stared at the people in the photograph over and over again.

  
**-X-**   


The green light hit Mad-Eye Moody straight in the chest. He fell to the ground with a resolute thump.

“No!” Ginny cried out. It couldn’t be... not Moody... 

For a moment, she forgot all about Dolohov. Only Moody mattered. He had been right in front of her, battling Crouch. She could see him all that time, see that Moody, who was no longer as young as he used to be, was having difficulties fighting the younger Death Eater. But she couldn’t get to him... couldn’t shake off Dolohov... and now Moody was gone, gone, and she - 

Dolohov’s burst of green light almost hit her too. She ducked at the very last second. She couldn’t afford losing her concentration, couldn’t afford focusing on Moody when she still had Dolohov in front of her. But it didn’t make losing Moody any less of a shock. In her rage, she sent curse after curse at Dolohov. Nothing could bring back Moody, but perhaps she could stop Dolohov from inflicting even more damage. 

So focused she was on Dolohov, that she did not notice that Crouch had recovered from the last curse that had hit him. He did not stand up, did not declare himself - instead, he creeped forward, right by the wall, and progressed towards her from the side. 

The green jet of light would have hit her - should have hit her - had it not been for the person who jumped over her, moving her out of the way at the very last second. She only became aware of the danger she had been in when, a second later, the green light smashed into the next wall, breaking it into pieces. 

She looked up to thank her unexpected saviour - and realised she didn’t know her at all. It was a woman, somewhat older than Ginny, with long, bushy brown hair and a determined expression on her face.

“Who are you?” Ginny demanded, rather than thanking her.

“Never mind that now - _stupify_!” the woman sent a jet of light towards Crouch, who was hit square in the chest and toppled back again. She then turned to Dolohov, and hit him with another spell. 

Around them, the members of the Order of the Phoenix were slowly gaining the upper hand. The Death Eaters, who realised they would not be able to execute their plan tonight, were Disapparating one by one. Soon, the only people left were the tired warriors, the strange woman - and Mad-Eye’s body.

Remus was the first of the others to notice their fallen friend. “No!” he cried, rushed to the body that lay forgotten on the ground, and knelt beside it. “Alastor!” he called. “Alastor!”

The old Auror did not reply.

Ginny could only stand above him and stare. She knew he would not reply - she knew he couldn’t - but she couldn’t get the words out of her mouth. 

“Alastor!” Remus cried again. 

“He’s dead, Remus,” Sirius said hoarsely. “He’s gone.”

Remus sat down on the ground, shaken. Sirius looked for a moment as if he was going to go to him, when he noticed the stranger. “Who’s this?” He asked, his voice still hoarse. In a second, he aimed his wand at her; another second, and every wand in the vicinity was pointed directly at the unknown woman.

Funny, Ginny thought. She didn’t seem too worried about that.

Now that Ginny had the time to study her properly, she saw that the woman looked shaken herself. Not from the wands; she didn’t even seem to register that so many wands were pointed at her. No, she was looking at them, from one to the other, her mouth slightly open, and all the while she was shaking her head slightly, almost imperceptibly. 

“How is this possible?” the woman whispered.

“Who are you?” It was Remus who asked her now, Remus who took charge.

“But - Remus - ” the woman started, and Remus was taken aback. She knew his name, and when she said it, her voice was full of affection. “Oh, this can’t be good. This is bad. This is very, very bad.”

“This will turn even worse for you, lady, if you don’t tell us who you are,” Sirius half-said, half-barked at her.

She turned her eyes from Remus, to Sirius - to Sev, Ginny noticed, and then her eyes locked on Lily. Only Ginny didn’t earn as much as a second glance from her. Ginny, whose life the strange woman had saved. 

“What year is this?” she asked all of a sudden.

“What - do you realise what danger you’re in right now? You should be answering _our_ questions!” Sirius did not take kindly to her question.

“I will, I will, but please, I have to know - what year is this?”

Next to Ginny, Remus and Sirius exchanged looks. Remus looked defeated, almost uncaring. If Sirius was hoping to get any sort of a sign from him, he was disappointed. Slowly, Sirius turned his glance to Sev, who shrugged slightly. 

Sirius gave a theatrical sigh and nodded. “Fine. It was 2010, last I checked. Almost the end of it, actually. _Now_ will you tell us who you are? Please?”

“2010... but that can’t be!”

It was funny - she reminded Ginny a bit of a school girl, who had handed in a paper she had thought would guarantee a perfect Outstanding, and got Exceeds Expectations instead. 

The rest of them, however, seemed to think this made her behaviour more suspicious, not less. “Incarcerous!” Lily shouted, and thick ropes wrapped around the woman. “We need to decide what to do with her,” she said shortly.

The woman had lost her balance and fell to the ground, looking more surprised than anything. The woman might not have recognised how dangerous her situation was, but Ginny recognised the look on Sirius’s face, together with the determination on Lily’s and Remus’s grief. She knew where this was going.

“Wait,” she called, then crouched next to the woman. “You saved my life,” she said.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do?” said the woman angrily. She fussed around and tried to sit up, despite the ropes that bound her. With all the fussing around she had plenty of reasons not to look at Ginny, but Ginny had the vague impression she was avoiding looking at her on purpose. 

“Well, you could have let me die,” she said jokingly.

That did not get the reaction she expected. The woman didn’t laugh, she didn’t look shocked, she didn’t protest. She just stole a glance at Ginny’s face - at last - then turned her head away. Ginny thought she saw the hint of tears in her eyes.

Quickly, she grabbed the woman’s wand, then stood up and turned to the others. “I say we get Dumbledore. He should soon be here for George, anyway - they’ll probably be back, if not today, then tomorrow.” She looked at the woman again. “Let’s not make any rash decisions. Let’s wait for Dumbledore to see her.”

Remus nodded absently. Sirius looked grim and unhappy, but jerked his head once in consent. Lily said, “Very well.” Sev, however, said nothing, just helped Ginny get the woman up and put her inside the house they had been protecting. They left the rest to bring Mad-Eye’s body behind them.

  


**-X-**  


Someone was knocking on the door. James jumped, startled.

They weren’t expecting any visitors. Even on Christmas Eve, none of their friends would come without announcing themselves first, whether James’s friends from the wizarding world, or Penny’s Muggle ones. They all knew better, even if not all of them knew why.

Another knock was heard, just as violent as the first. Was today the day? Did the Death Eaters finally decide, tonight of all nights, to take care of what they surely thought of as a travesty?

He’d have to open the door - that was the only way to fend them off, and who knew, maybe it wasn’t them after all. 

“Penny,” he whispered. Penny had already realised something was up - where earlier she was sitting in front of the television, laughing at the screen, she was now standing up, looking worried. She said nothing, but he knew she was listening to his every word. “Take Emily. Go to the cabinet. Stay there.”

“Shouldn’t we go through the kitchen?”

He shook his head. “They could have noticed the back door.” 

She nodded. He could see her shaking, and brought his hand to her face. “I’ll come and fetch you in no time,” he tried to smile, and couldn’t help but think it must have looked more like a grimace.

“What if - if you’re - ” she bit her lip, unable to finish the sentence. Outside, the knocking continued.

“They won’t do anything. I’m pure-blood. If I don’t fight, they won’t do anything.” Technically lies, but not the kind of lies he wanted to explain to Penny - not now. If worse came to worse, he knew Albus Dumbledore would take care of his family. “Go.”

Penny kissed him, grabbed Emily, and together they disappeared towards the cellars, where the cabinet was hidden, the best escape route - and the only one that was also available to Penny, James’s Muggle wife.

Now reassured that they were safe downstairs, he walked towards the door and opened it defiantly, his wand pointed directly at the unknown visitor.

The first thing he did was breathe a sigh of relief. There was only one person at the door, and his face was completely visible. The Death Eaters did not come tonight.

The second thing he did was stare at the man in surprise. After the first wave of relief, he actually stopped to look at the face in front of him - and realised he knew him.

The third thing he did was Stun the man and drag him into the house.

He made sure to take the man’s wand and bind him properly before he called Penny and Emily back from the cabinet. Then he went upstairs, and took a small bottle from a shelf. Inside was a transparent, odourless liquid - Veritaserum. He could have waited until the Polyjuice Potion wore off - or whatever it was the unexpected intruder had taken to hide his identity in such a horrible manner; eventually, inevitably, the man who was now bound in James Potter’s small living room would reveal himself. But he didn’t feel like waiting. Not when the man had chosen such a grotesque disguise. He wanted to see right now who could possibly think it was a good idea to impersonate his dead godson, to impersonate Ronald Weasley.

“James,” Penny called from downstairs.

“Coming,” he said. He closed his hand around the small bottle, and rushed down the stairs.

Penny was pale and bit her lips in visible nervousness. James was not surprised. The Weasleys had been their good friends almost since James had married Penny - what with Arthur’s obsession about Muggles and all - and Ron in particular had always been around. They saw him grow up. They saw him become a man. And then - they saw him die. 

James remembered that day as if it were yesterday. The battle in the Ministry, Ron fighting Bellatrix... and then her curse had hit him, at the exact same moment as his hit her. 

“How can it be?” she whispered. “You said... death is permanent... and...”

He hugged her. “It’s not Ron. It can’t be - it’s some sick trick. I don’t know what they’re trying to achieve, but I’m going to find out,” he said and faced the man. He tipped three drops of the potion into his mouth, then reversed the spell to wake him up.

“Wha - ” said the man. He even sounded like Ron Weasley. He moved his head, this way and that, until he focused on James. “You look familiar,” he said.

“This isn’t about me,” James said roughly. “I’ll be the one asking the questions. Who are you?”

“Ron Weasley,” the man answered immediately. “You _really_ look familiar, though.”

James looked at the potion, making sure it’s the same one he meant to fetch - yes, it was Veritaserum. It might take some time to take effect. Or, he knew, perhaps the man was immune to it.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Hell if I know. We were in the Ministry, see. Where am I?” 

James stared at him. It _sounded_ like the Veritaserum was working. The man didn’t sound capable of stopping himself. But everything he said was wrong. 

“You’re in Godric’s Hollow. You couldn’t have come here from the Ministry. I’ll ask again - who are you?”

“Ron Weasley - that’s why you look familiar. You look like Harry.”

“Who’s Harry?” James asked irritably. 

The man closed his mouth all of a sudden, and looked around. 

This was going nowhere. James raised his wand and sent a message to Albus Dumbledore. With this, he would need some advice. In the meanwhile, he sat down in front of his prisoner, and waited for whatever magic he had used to look like Ron Weasley to wear off.

  
**December 25th, 2010, 02:05 a.m.**  
Remus was sitting in the kitchen of the Burrow, looking blankly at the decorated walls. He had no idea where everyone else was. He didn’t much care. He felt too empty to care.

Someone sat next to him - Sirius, he could tell without looking. Sirius had a distinct smell, a kind of odour that was only and specifically his. Usually it was harder to tell, especially now when the moon had waned and could barely be seen in the night sky, but with Sirius, Remus always knew.

“George seems better,” Sirius said. He didn’t sound very happy, even though he was bearing good news. Remus nodded.

“Molly reckons we’d have to move him tonight - move the entire family, more like it. They’re bound to try again.”

“Of course they are. If he really saw what we think he saw...”

“I’ll tell Dumbledore when he gets here. It was irresponsible of him to let George back in the Burrow.”

“He’s Molly’s son. She wanted him at home.”

“Hogwarts is more secure.”

Remus sighed. They had the same discussion - or was it an argument? - five times in the past three days. Yes, Hogwarts was more secure. Yes, if George really did get the information they thought he did - and the continuing attacks by Death Eaters had suggested as much - they would need to hear it as soon as he woke up. Yes, they were all worried about George, and more than that, they couldn’t put any more of the Weasley family in danger. But George had been unresponsive for almost a week, ever since Lucius Malfoy’s curse got him, and Molly wanted to be next to her son. Remus couldn’t blame her.

“Any more information about that woman?”

Now it was Sirius’s turn to sigh. “Nothing. She stopped cooperating at all, won’t even tell us her name. Only thing she does say is ‘This is bad’.” He made an ugly sound. “If she keeps on being uncooperative, things will certainly turn bad for her.”

“Sirius,” Remus said, half in exasperation, half in warning. “Let Dumbledore deal with it.”

“Fine, fine.” Remus didn’t need to be in his wolf form to feel Sirius’s resentment tonight. 

They sat there in silence for a while, waiting - even though they weren’t sure what they were waiting for. Every once in a while, Remus opened his mouth - he wanted to say some of the things on his mind, the words about Alastor, but none of them came out. Other times, Sirius looked as if he was about to speak, then thought better of it. Remus couldn’t help but wonder whether Sirius wanted, like him, to speak of Alastor, or perhaps he had something completely different in mind.

When Sirius did speak, it wasn’t to mention Alastor - at least, not by name. “Where _is_ Dumbledore?!” he asked after a while. “He was supposed to be here hours ago. This wouldn’t have happened had he been here, like he said he would!”

Remus didn’t answer. It was hard enough, dealing with the knowledge of Alastor’s death, without looking for the blame, without putting it on Dumbledore.

After five more minutes of silence - or was it fifteen? - Remus had enough. Sitting there and waiting was driving him mad. Absently, he reached for the plate of pies Molly had prepared for dinner, the pies they never had the time to eat because of the Death Eater attack. They were delicious, of course. Molly’s cooking always was. 

“Maybe we should offer them to everyone,” Sirius said.

He didn’t take any of the pies himself - Remus had known his old friend well enough to know he couldn’t even think of eating at the moment. But he was right - handing out pies will give them something to do.

Everyone greeted the sight of the pies enthusiastically - in a night like this, there was nothing like Molly’s cooking to cheer up the crowd. 

Once he finished with his friends, Remus turned to look at their prisoner. At first, he thought she looked defiant, upset, or just angry - angry at the world, which, as she had continued telling them, made no sense. Now, he rather thought she looked mostly tired, tired and confused, and perhaps a little bit scared.

He walked to her, carrying the plate. She couldn’t take anything, of course, as she was still bound by Lily’s spell. Remus looked across the room - with so many wizards and witches around, and her wand in Lily’s possession, it was quite impossible she would be able to escape. He waved his wand, and the ropes were gone. “I hope this is better.”

“Yes,” she said, and then, as an afterthought, added, “thank you.”

“Please don’t try to escape,” he said pleasantly. “I’m afraid we can’t allow that.”

She snorted. “Don’t worry,” she said.

“Would you like some water?” he asked her. “Or something to eat?”

She looked at him in surprise, then smiled. “No, thanks,” she said. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Molly’s pies are world famous.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I reme - ” she stopped in the middle of the word. Her laughter was wiped from her face, replaced with a stoney expression. “No,” she said stiffly. “Thank you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t poisoned that pie, you know,” he said. He meant it as dry sarcasm, to admonish her for her stiff reply and cold demeanour, when he had done his best - under the circumstances - to help her. Instead, she reacted in a completely nonsensical manner: she started to laugh, a real and hearty laughter, full of mirth. In no time at all, she had tears in her eyes, and everyone was staring at her - Remus included. 

Once she had calmed down, she nodded - still biting down a smile - hesitated for a moment, then took a pie. Her attempt to eat in a dignified manner lasted all of the first bite. After that, she devoured the rest of the pie before anyone else had even finished half of their own.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. When he offered her a second helping, she took it without further comment. He sat down on the chair next to her, and watched her eat in silence.

“I’m Remus Lupin,” he said once she had finished her second pie.

“I know,” she said. She didn’t offer anything else.

“Okay, let’s try this again. Hello, I’m Remus Lupin. _What’s your name_?”

Next to them, Sirius and Ginny had stopped talking. They were not looking at either of them, but Remus knew them well enough to know they were listening their hardest.

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea to tell you - oh, alright,” she said in an irritated tone. Remus had done nothing but raise an eyebrow, of course, but it seemed his message was clear. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

Something about the name rang a bell in Remus’s mind. He shot a glance at Sirius and Ginny - none of them seemed to have recognised the name, they did not react in suspicion or surprise - or anything, really. But Remus was sure he had heard it before.

“Alright, Hermione Granger. How did you end up here at the Burrow?”

It took her longer to answer that question. “I don’t know,” she finally said.

Remus sighed. “Look, Ms Granger, surely you can understand that showing up out of the blue, especially when we’re under attack by Death Eaters, is going to be a problem for us.”

She looked at the carpet. “Problem,” she whispered with a small laugh. “You don’t know just how big the problem is.” A moment later, and she seemed to have picked herself up from whatever thought that had occupied her mind. Now she was calm and composed again. “I’m sorry, Remus. I would have liked very much to give you answers. I just don’t know. One moment I was at the Ministry with two of my friends, the next - I was here. And a Death Eater was about to curse Ginny and I couldn’t let him do that.”

“Why?” Unable to stop herself, Ginny now joined the conversation. “We’ve never met. Why would you care about a Death Eater cursing me?”

“But I - ” Once again, Hermione wanted to say something, then caught herself. “I wouldn’t want to see anyone cursed by Death Eaters,” she said carefully. Remus was sure that was not what she had originally intended to say.

“Or maybe you’re a Death Eater and you’re trying to gain our trust to get to George,” Ginny said darkly. 

“Why would I - what’s happened to George?”

Ginny snorted in disgust. Remus, however, thought it couldn’t hurt to tell her. If she were a Death Eater, she already knew; if she weren’t, they still didn’t have to be wary of her telling the Death Eaters - because they already knew.

“He came by some important information,” he said finally. “The Death Eaters cursed him. They attacked the Burrow three times already, trying to get to him.”

“How is he?” she asked. And now Remus was sure - she was no Death Eater. There was real concern in her voice, real care for George. Why would she care about this man she had never met, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t imagine a Death Eater thinking that way.

“He’s slowly getting better - that’s why they’re getting more and more desperate, we assume. Hopefully, he’ll fully recover in the next few days.” Remus looked at the fire for a while. “We’ll stay here and defend him with our lives. Not because of the information - although, hopefully, it will help us turn the tide of the war.”

“He’s your friend,” Granger said softly.

Remus nodded. “More than that - Molly doesn’t need any more children killed. After Ron - ”

He never finished the sentence. Granger gasped in horror and slumped on her chair, white as a sheet.

He looked at her in concern. “Are you alright?”

“Ron?” she whispered. “But... it can’t be... he was... Ron’s alive!”

Perhaps that was where he knew her name from? Perhaps Ron had mentioned her once? Perhaps she was his friend? He shook his head in sadness, the memory of that terrible day at the Ministry still fresh in his mind, even though it had been two whole years already. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Ron’s dead.”

“No,” she curled on her chair, crying in earnest now. “He can’t be... after everything, after all this time... he can’t be...”

Even Ginny’s expression softened now, when she saw the way the strange, unknown woman mourned in earnest for her brother. 

“I’m sorry,” Remus said again. He reached to comfort her, but she recoiled from him, drawing into herself. He knelt in front of her chair, looking for some word of comfort to give this clearly distraught woman - over the news he so unwittingly gave her - but she turned her face away. After a moment she buried her head in her knees. 

Remus looked helplessly at Ginny and Sirius. Ginny looked touched; Sirius shrugged. After all that time, Remus knew, Sirius had stopped believing in sentimentality over lost friends. Ron, Alastor... it didn’t matter. Sirius simply accepted it and moved on. Remus wondered whether that would be his reaction if Remus died, too - a grim face and a shrug. 

He shook the thought from his head, and turned back to Granger. “Hermione?” he tried again.

Someone coughed behind them. Remus jumped and turned around - it was Arthur.

“I just talked to Dumbledore,” he said. “Something’s detaining him, he didn’t say what. He said we should take George ourselves to Hogwarts, and he will meet us there.”

“Why can’t he come here?” Ginny demanded. 

“I don’t know, Ginny,” Arthur said testily, “but I’m sure it’s important. Our biggest problem now is how to get George to Hogwarts.”

“We can’t Apparate to the castle,” Remus agreed.

“We’ll just have to Apparate to the gates,” Sirius said, but Arthur shook his head. 

“No, Sirius, I thought about it. It’s too far from the castle, and who knows what we’ll encounter on the way - and I’d rather not move George around more than necessary.”

“How about the Floo?” Lily asked, and again, Arthur shook his head.

“It would take days to connect the Hogwarts grates. By then - ”

“By then the Death Eaters could attack a dozen more times, yes,” Lily finished the sentence grimly.

To Remus’s surprise, the strange woman on the chair made an impatient noise. “You have a suggestion?” Remus asked.

“Portkey.”

“You can’t make unauthorised Portkeys,” Remus pointed out.

“No - you’re not _allowed_ to make unauthorised Portkeys. Not the same thing at all.”

“The Ministry - ”

“The Ministry weren’t here to protect George in the first place,” she cut across him. “You’re allowed to do magic that’s otherwise prohibited in life-and-death situations, that’s always been the case. And even if the Death Eaters at the Ministry think - ” the rest of her sentence was swallowed by a shower of protests and horrified exclamations.

“Death Eaters - in the Ministry?” 

“Death Eaters?”

“The Death Eaters got to the Ministry?!”

“What on earth are you talking about!”

She looked at them in confusion. “I - what?” she asked. The protests started again.

“You said the Death Eaters were in the Ministry!”

“I know that the Ministry haven’t been the most helpful to our cause lately, but really! That’s no reason to call them Death Eaters.”

“But - Malfoy - ”

“Oh, _Malfoy_ ,” Sirius snorted. “Yes, he’s a big man with the Minister. He hasn’t taken over the Ministry, though, even the Minister isn’t _that_ stupid.”

Now she got up, flushed and shocked. “What are you talking about?!” she demanded from Sirius, then looked at the lot of them. “What is going on here?”

“Whatever it is, we can work it out later,” said Arthur, ever the voice of reason. “Ms Granger does have the right idea, I think. Portkeys might be illegal, but they would work, and we can always point out to the attack. The only question is how to bypass Dumbledore’s defences - surely he would not allow a Portkey through? I’ll go and send him a message.”

Hermione collapsed back to her chair. Ginny leaned towards Remus and whispered, “Are we sure everything’s alright with her?”

“Like Arthur said,” Remus answered, “we can sort this out later.”

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Remus didn’t want to say anything - he was no longer sure what would trigger another outburst from their prisoner-turned-guest, or what would be the next subject of one of her preposterous comments. Remaining silent seemed... safer. 

The rest felt the same way. Sirius communicated with him mainly by incredulous looks; Lily and Sev were whispering in the corner. Ginny just stared at the woman, mainly in curiosity. In the silence, Remus’s mind turned back to Alastor. He buried his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes. Another great man lost, another landmark to their inevitable defeat.

Sirius must have felt what was on his mind - he felt his hand on his shoulder and raised his eyes. “You know what Mad-Eye would have said,” he said with a smile.

“What am I doing feeling sorry for myself when there’s a suspect person in the house,” Remus whispered.

“Constant vigilance!” Sirius said in a surprisingly loud voice, and they both laughed, Remus without real mirth, Sirius with a laughter that sounded a bit like a bark.

Ginny pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. “He wouldn’t want us sitting here in silence,” she said. Remus nodded and handed out glasses, and they all drank in Alastor’s memory. Sirius’s words, when he raised his glass, were - once again - ‘constant vigilance’. This time he got smiles from everyone around, including - Remus had noticed from the corner of his eye - Hermione Granger, who did not get a glass. 

He downed his firewhiskey in one go, letting the drink burn its way down his throat and warm him up. Constant vigilance, indeed. What would Alastor think about them trusting a strange woman who insisted she knew them?

“I just heard from Dumbledore. We’ve created the Portkey. Time to go.” Arthur was speaking from the doorway, but everyone was on their feet in an instant. Remus made sure to hold Granger’s arm - her presence there could still be the result of an elaborate plot. He was more and more certain it wasn’t; she was too genuine to be a fake. But still, he thought... constant vigilance. 

They didn’t go to the kitchen; instead, they found themselves going up to George’s room. George, as Arthur had said, was too ill to be moved. It was safer that way. 

He was lying on the bed, pale and unmoving, still unconscious. He looked almost dead. Molly was sitting at his side, holding a cold towel to wipe his face. Once again, he heard a small gasp from their unknown guest, but this was not the time to ask her for the meaning of her strange behaviour.

“Molly,” Arthur said quietly. She turned to them, a worried expression on her face, but nodded. “The Portkey will take us directly to the Hogwarts hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey has already been informed of our arrival.”

The Porkey was an old bottle of Skele-Gro. The all held on to it, and then Arthur tapped his wand. They left the Burrow in a familiar swirl.

The Portkey brought them, as promised, to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was upon them as soon as they arrived. With a flick of her wand, she guided George to a nearby bed, and started looking for various potions to use on him, despite Arthur insisting that Dumbledore had already examined George and that everything that could be done had been done.

“I think we better leave the Weasleys here,” Sirius muttered. Remus chuckled - Sirius hated hospitals, and Remus had the impression he was somewhat afraid of Madam Pomfrey. Well, he wouldn’t put it past her to put terror in the bravest of souls - she was a terrifying woman.

“Come on, then,” he suggested. “We can check if Albus has returned to his office by now - and wait for him if he hasn’t.”

“We’ll come with you,” Lily said, and Sev nodded.

“I just need to pick up something from my office first, something I need to give Dumbledore.”

“Very well - we all know the dungeons are right on the way,” Remus said, and earned himself an appreciative laughter from the rest. 

He nudged Granger. She didn’t seem to even register them now, but was staring at Madam Pomfrey and the hospital wing in amazement. “What?” she said, then realised they were all waiting for her. “Oh. Right. Sorry. It’s just that... it looks exactly like I remember it.”

“You were a student here, at Hogwarts?” Lily asked, and all of a sudden, it came back to Remus - Hallowe’en, so many years ago, and a small first-year girl, trapped in a bathroom... now he knew where he knew the name Hermione Granger from. 

On Sev’s face he saw a similar look of shock - Severus, too, had remembered the name at last. They should have realised it before - Hermione Granger was the first girl to have died at Hogwarts for fifty years. A snap decision was made when the two old friends caught each other’s eye for a moment - they will let Dumbledore handle this. It was now obvious that the woman had lied to them about her identity - and, perhaps, about everything else as well. She looked genuine, but she could very well be a Death Eater, Remus thought grimly and tightened his grip on her arm, aiming his wand at her quietly. Next to him, Sev made sure his wand was covering her as well. Her wand was still in Lily’s hands, but they were not going to give her the chance to escape or to get another’s wand. As for how they will learn the truth about her aims and identity - they would leave that to Albus.

“Go on,” he said, more roughly than he had done until now. She must have noticed the change in his voice, as she gave him a surprised look. She said nothing, though, just kept on walking.

She knew her way around Hogwarts, that was for sure. She didn’t need to follow Sirius in order to find the way to the dungeons. Remus considered telling Sev to meet them later; giving her more time to stroll around the castle could not be a good idea. But then, he did not want to alert her that they had realised she was lying to them, and Sev was the only other person who knew to keep alert. Better this five minute complication, Remus thought as they walked down the stairs. 

As it turned out - he was wrong. 

The first clue was the small memorial corner for Neville Longbottom. They passed it without a second thought, but on hindsight, Remus should have noticed the big crack on the display glass. 

Then they had reached Sev’s office.

Or rather, Remus thought grimly at Severus’s horrified yell, what was _left_ of his office. Shards of glass from his many jars and rare potion bottles covered the floor of the office and the corridor leading to it. By the time they reached the door, their shoes were all but covered in the various slimy things that were once held by those jars. 

His personal belongings suffered a similar fate: some of the parchments were burning, his neatly-stacked books had pages missing, and his many photographs were thrown all around the room.

At the centre of the mess sat a man. The glass did not spare him - the exposed parts of his body had many scratches on them, and some of his robes were bloodied. With or without blood, he was covered in shattered glass. And yet, he did not act bothered by it all. He was sitting on the floor of Sev’s office, leaning on the wall, photographs spread all around him. He was holding firmly on to one of the photographs, so strongly that he had injured his finger on the broken glass frame. Droplets of blood were collecting at the corner of the frame. It didn’t even look like he noticed. 

“Harry,” the woman - Granger, for lack of a name - breathed next to him. Remus turned sharply.

“You know him?” he asked.

“He’s - he’s one of my friends.”

“Get - him - out - of - my - office!” Sev said, trying hard not to start shouting. Granger gave him an alarmed look.

“He didn’t mean to do all this,” she said.

“I don’t care! Get him out or I’ll do it myself!”

She bit her lip. To Remus’s surprise, she didn’t walk into the office, but stood at the doorway. “Harry?” she asked tentatively.

“We’re at Hogwarts,” the man answered. He didn’t raise his head from the photograph.

“I know,” she said.

“It looks just like I remember it.”

“It’s not exactly the same,” she said, “but yeah, it does look like it did. Harry, I need you to - ”

“This is _Snape’s_ office, Hermione,” he said, as if he didn’t hear her talking.

“I know,” she sounded miserable.

Finally, the man lifted his eyes from the photograph. Remus was taken aback. Behind him, he could hear Sirius swear. 

He had never seen the man before, but that didn’t stop him from looking so very familiar. In fact, he looked almost exactly like James Potter. Almost exactly, because the messy hair - much like Potter’s - had much more grey in it, the lines in his face so much more pronounced. And there were other differences, too: James Potter’s eyes were hazel, but this man’s were bright green. Remus wasn’t quite sure why he had noticed the eyes so readily. Perhaps, he thought, because that had been the main difference between this man and Potter - the main difference, that is, other than the fact he looked older. Yes, he thought, that must be it, even though something nudged him that it wasn’t all there was to it.

“I don’t understand, Hermione,” the man - Harry - said simply.

“I don’t either. Dumbledore’s here too... they’re taking us to see him. If anyone can explain, it’s Dumbledore.”

“Dumbledore...” Harry repeated the name, and above him, one of the last picture frames exploded without warning, showering them all with glass. 

Hermione didn’t try to escape the glass. She stood her ground at the doorframe, not getting any closer, but not moving away, either. The rest of them swore and jumped back. Now Remus was starting to understand what had happened in that office - the man, who was in obvious emotional turmoil, was unable to control his magic. Even eleven-year-old children controlled their magic better than that.

“Please, Harry... we need to go to his office.”

Harry nodded. He got up, still clutching the photograph in his hand. Remus could see now what it was - a picture of the Snapes, taken at a picnic a few years ago. Sev and Lily and Harry, so happy together. Funny coincidence, he thought, that this man was called Harry, too.

This Harry finally put the photograph down and left the office, shedding small pieces of glass all around him. He stopped at the doorway - Granger, for some reason, took a step back, not forward - and stared at all of them, one after another, in obvious shock.

“Hermione...” his voice shook.

“I don’t know, Harry. I really don’t know. But Dumbledore is here,” she repeated. “Dumbledore will know.”

Harry took a shaking hand and wiped his face. Remus noticed for a moment a scar on his forehead, but the messy black-and-grey hair covered it again almost immediately. He took a step forward, towards Hermione.

Sev took the opportunity to run into his office, and started swearing.

“Calm down,” Lily said. “We’ll worry about that letter. Get what you wanted, and let’s go see Dumbledore.” The sooner we dropped these two on him, the better. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to say it.

“I can’t find it in all this mess! Maybe he smashed it too, that idiot man...”

“Leave it be, Sev,” Sirius said.

Harry looked from Sirius to Sev, to Sirius again. 

“I know, Harry, I know,” Hermione said again. Remus really wanted to ask her _what_ it was she knew. “Please,” she said. “Dumbledore.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll need his wand,” Remus said shortly. 

“Remus, do we really need to - ”

“Yes,” he cut off Granger before she finished her sentence. “We still don’t know who the hell you people are. His wand.”

Harry just stared at the two of them. “Remus, it’s me!” he said, clutching his wand.

Three wands now were aimed at him - Sirius, Sev and Lily all covered him with their wands. Remus was keeping his firmly on Granger, in case she tried anything.

“They don’t know us, Harry.”

Harry then did something curious - he looked, not at Remus or Granger, but at Sev and Lily. All of a sudden, looking from one to the other, Remus had quite the odd idea that his eyes, behind the glasses, looked exactly like hers. 

“Yeah, I guess they don’t,” he said, and handed his wand to Remus. 

“Let’s go,” Remus said. 

Hermione walked forward, falling into step next to her friend. She didn’t hold his hand, or try to encourage him in any way. They just walked silently, keeping a small but noticeable distance between one another.

Finally, they reached the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. It was obvious this man, Harry, knew his way around the castle just as well as Granger did. He stopped right in front of the gargoyle, and waited patiently for one of them to speak the password. “Cockroach cluster,” Sev murmured, and the gargoyle came to life. The small group climbed in, and the steps rose slowly.

Dumbledore was already in his office. He answered with a strained “Enter” when Sev knocked. Once again, Remus pointed to the two prisoners to walk in first, and followed them close behind.

Dumbledore was not alone in his office. He sat at his table, a curious look on his face. In front of him sat two men. The first, none other than James Potter himself. Seeing the man there gave Remus a split second to appreciate just how similar Granger’s friend had been to him - definitely a relative. 

Only a split second was given to James Potter, though, because next to him, he had already recognised the tall, wiry man with flaming red hair whom he had last seen two years ago, falling, falling...

“Ron!”

He wasn’t sure who it was who said the word so loudly. Perhaps he, perhaps Sirius, next to him, or Lily and Sev. Perhaps it was all four of them together. But any thought of Potters and Grangers left his mind in an instant, with this apparition of a dead friend, sitting casually in front of Dumbledore.

“Please, sit down, everyone,” Dumbledore said pleasantly but firmly.

“Ron...” Sirius said again, and now Remus’s mind was thrown back to Granger - the girl who died 19 years ago. 

“Albus - how could it be Ron?”

“I promise you, Remus,” Albus said quietly. “I have checked the man in evry method possible. I am not sure how - but it is Ron Weasley. There is no doubt about it. Please sit down,” he repeated, but now it was hopeless, because of their prisoners - or guests - or whatever they were.

Granger gave a small, strangle cry. Ron turned and caught her eye, looking relieved. She ran to him and he caught her and swirled around with her, raising her feet from the ground. She kissed him with passion and need and relief. 

“Ron - God, Ron, they said... I thought... they said you were dead and I thought I’d never see you again, and - oh, Ron!” Ron kissed her forehead, and drew her even closer to him.

“I’m here, Hermione, I’m here, it’s alright...”

Dumbledore smiled indulgently. Remus wanted to say something, but Dumbledore caught his eye and shook his head. Give them a moment, Remus understood from his gesture. Instead of talking, he went back and sat next to Sirius.

A moment later, and Dumbledore must have thought they had enough time, because he said, gently still but firmly, “Please sit down.”

Hermione and Ron broke their embrace, then sat down in front of Dumbledore. 

“I’m afraid we find ourselves in quite an... unusual situation,” Dumbledore opened. “I will have to ask you some questions.”

Hermione nodded.

“What is your name?”

“Hermione Granger.”

Dumbledore, it seemed, remembered the name much better than either Remus or Sev. “Hermione _Jean_ Granger?”

“Yes,” she said. 

“Born 19th of September, 1979?”

She nodded.

“Parents William and Mary Granger, both Muggle dentists?”

“Yes.”

“ _Died_ 31st of October, 1991,” that was not a question. Hermione stared at him in confusion. 

“Hallowe’en?” she asked in a whisper.

“The troll,” Ron said next to her. 

“Quite,” Dumbledore agreed. “You see, that year, we had... a professor whose loyalties were not solely to the school.”

“You mean he had Voldemort under his turban,” Ron said savagely. 

“Yes. Quite.” Dumbledore didn’t seem much surprised that Ron had said Voldemort’s name, although Remus couldn’t remember him ever speaking the name out loud. “I had been foolish, and did not appraise just how urgent the situation had been,” Dumbledore sighed. “On Hallowe’en, Professor Quirrell had let a troll into the school, hoping to create a diversion. The troll proceeded into the girls’ lavatories. I must ask - please indulge an old man, Ms Granger, but what were you doing in that bathroom that night? I clearly remember giving the students clear instructions to proceed to their dormitories, and while my memories of Ms Granger are vague, I remember she was very... _uptight_ about following school rules.”

Both Hermione and Ron burst into laughter at that last sentence. “Uptight,” Ron repeated. “I like that. Describes you well, Hermione.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said and beat him playfully on his arm. After a moment’s smile, she returned to Dumbledore. “I wasn’t at the feast that evening,” she said. “I, uh - well, if you must know, Ron here was being a prat and insulted me earlier that day.”

Ron now laughed again. “Yeah, I was a bit of a prat, wasn’t I?”

“Yes, you were,” she said, laughing as well. “I went to cry in the toilet... and I never heard that there was a troll in the school.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said gravely. “Thank you. That was one riddle that had bothered me ever since. But, you see, what happened afterwards has bothered me much more. The troll proceeded into the girls’ lavatory, and killed a student,” he now looked directly at Hermione, “a promising, talented young witch named Hermione Granger.”

“But that didn’t happen like that!” she said angrily. “Ron and Harry remembered I wasn’t around and came looking for me and defeated the troll!”

“Harry?” Dumbledore asked, puzzled.

Remus had forgotten for a moment the strange man who had trashed Severus’s office; he did not sit down with the rest of them. Remus now looked around and located the man, still standing, looking at them from the doorway. Dumbledore had noticed him at the same time, and was now studying him in an interested expression. Harry was looking straight back at Dumbledore without blinking.

Odd, Remus thought - if he understood Granger’s words correctly, he was the same age as Ron and her; but he looked much older, almost the same age as Remus or James Potter. 

“Oh, yeah, I got his wand here, too,” Lily said and waved the man’s wand around.

“Watch it, you’ll poke someone eye’s out,” Remus said in a joke - but no one seemed to think it was funny, and least of all Albus.

Albus had acted in a manner so unlike himself, that Remus was left shaken. He jumped on his feet, staring at the wand. He then rushed towards Lily and took the wand from her in such force, that he almost yanked it out of her hand. Lily was about to say something, but changed her mind. Albus in such a mood was a terrible sight to behold, much scarier than any Death Eater. And all because of a wand?

He then rounded on Harry. There was no indulgent smile on his lips, no kind questioning this time. The man was being interrogated, with no kindness and no pretence, but with an urgency that Albus had not shown before.

“Name.”

“Harry James Potter.”

“Your parents.”

“James and Lily Potter.”

Remus stared at James Potter in surprise - and saw an equally incredulous look. If this man was James Potter’s son, that was news to Potter. And who was Lily - 

“Your mother’s maiden name.”

“Evans.”

Sev now rose to his feet, Lily after him. Remus and Sirius did the same. What was going on here? 

“Dumbledore,” Lily started, but Albus raised an arm to silence her.

“Day of birth.”

“31st July, 1980.”

Now Albus took a step back, studying the man in shock, and then - what was going on? Albus stretched the wand forward, moving the hair on the man’s forehead, to reveal a scar. The man seemed to shiver - or perhaps, shake - but remained in his place, breathing faster and faster. He was clearly upset - and just as in Sev’s office, one of Albus’s glass instruments shattered with a bang. Albus didn’t even seem to register it.

Finally, he lowered the wand. Potter was still shaking, but no more glass instruments exploded, which Remus assumed was a good sign.

“Dumbledore! What the hell is going on?” Lily demanded, but Albus only looked at Potter.

“How did you come by this wand?” he asked.

“It’s mine. I won the wand’s allegiance.”

“From _whom_?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

Dumbledore looked back and forth, from Potter to the wand to Potter again. “Malfoy?” he repeated. “How did he ever get the wand?”

“That’s quite enough, Headmaster” a new, sharp voice was heard - Granger’s. To her friends she turned with a much softer voice. “I don’t think we should give any more information, not until we figure out where we stand with them. They may still think we’re Death Eaters.”

“Agreed,” said Ron. Potter nodded too, not removing his eyes from Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore, however, didn’t seem to care about the understanding between the three. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked Potter bluntly.

Potter froze again. “How d’you mean?” he asked. 

“Have you ever been a student at Hogwarts?”

“Yes,” Potter answered slowly, suspiciously. “Six years.”

Dumbledore didn’t answer at first, but simply gestured at the shattered instruments. Only once he had been satisfied that his point was made did he say the words on his mind: “At Hogwarts, or, at least, the Hogwarts that I know, we teach our students to control their magic.”

Potter opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Then opened it. When he next closed it, Granger spoke. “That would be because Harry had been Voldemort’s prisoner for ten years,” she said in a mournful voice. Remus’s mouth opened in shock - ten years, at the mercy of Voldemort? No wonder... 

But Granger didn’t seem to want to discuss this at the moment. “That’s one of the things we’ll talk about in good time, Headmaster,” she said, slightly more hostile than before. But Potter seemed to want to say something too, for he opened his mouth a third time. 

“Professor,” he started, but Granger shook her head.

“Later, Harry,” she said.

So it was at that exact moment, of course, that someone else burst into the room. 

“Regulus!” Sirius called in surprise - and everyone’s attention turned to the man who had entered - Sirius’s brother, Regulus.

He didn’t even pay them a glance. He just rushed to Dumbledore, panting, and started talking fast. “I don’t understand how it’s possible - Dumbledore - he has him - I don’t know how - what should we do - we can’t let him - I saw him! In my own eyes, I saw him - Dumbledore!”

“Regulus,” Sirius said again, rushing to his brother’s side. “What’s going on? Calm down. Who did you see? What’s happened?”

“He has him! The Dark Lord has him! He’s alive and at the Dark Lord’s mercy! Neville Longbottom is alive!”


	2. When Two Worlds Collide

**25th December, 2010, 11:17 a.m. X removed to S’:**

The heavy door opened. Harry jumped to his feet, ready to face any opponent - but it was only Ron, Ron thrown to the floor, Ron groaning, Ron clutching his head, and the big door slammed shut behind him.

“Ron!” Harry jumped to his friend’s aid. He was thrown on the floor of the cell so strongly that now he was bleeding from his nose and lips. Harry lifted him gently and looked for something to wipe off the blood. Ron groaned again and opened his eyes.

“Did you tell them anything?” Harry asked urgently.

Ron shook his head. Good. The side of his face was swollen, Harry noticed, and wished he had some ice to treat him. Instead, he just tried to give him some water. Ron drank greedily, urgently, then shook his head violently to signal he had enough.

“Harry,” he croaked.

“S’okay. Rest. I won’t let them take you again,” Harry said gently.

“No... you need to.... we’re in the Ministry...”

“What?!” Did they hurt Ron that badly? Was he delusional? They couldn’t be in the Ministry. Of course they couldn’t.

“It looks like the Ministry... but it isn’t... and Malfoy... Malfoy’s Minister...”

Harry didn’t have the time to even contemplate Ron’s preposterous words. The heavy door opened again, and one of the wizards aimed his wand at Harry. “You! Potter!” he barked. “Come with us.” Reluctantly, Harry let go of Ron, putting his head gently on the floor.

“Harry,” Ron whispered.

“I’ll be alright,” he said and got up. The wizards pushed him outside of the cell, and Harry got a better look of where they were held. Ron was right - if this wasn’t the Ministry, it was an exact replica. He had been down that path plenty of times before - these were the same cells where they kept prisoners before their trail with the Wizengamot. It made no sense - how could this be the Ministry? Why would he and Ron be arrested?

Soon, he was brought into a small office. And in front of him - Draco Malfoy. Or someone who looked like Malfoy, at least. He looked colder, though. The Draco Malfoy Harry had known had mellowed down over the years, become more agreeable. He was still not _nice_ \- Harry would never go that far - and they would never be friends... but he had grown up into a more decent human being. But this man, who was sitting in front of him, didn’t feel like that Draco Malfoy at all.

Just as he was studying Malfoy, Malfoy was studying him, he was sure of it. His grey eyes scanned Harry, calculating. Finally, Malfoy’s lips curled into a small, chilling smile. “Incredible,” he said.

“What?” Harry asked coldly.

“I look at you, and I think - Potter. That is truly remarkable.”

Harry snorted. “Remarkable that you recognise me? I’ve known you since I was eleven, Malfoy.” Obviously, too long. “And, you know, not to sound too full of myself or anything, but I’d be pretty insulted if you didn’t recognised me.”

“This is... uncanny. You don’t look like Potter. You don’t act like Potter. You don’t even sound like Potter. And yet - I’m convinced that you are. That must be some incredible magic.”

“You’re making no sense, Malfoy.”

Malfoy got up and walked towards him. “Who are you?” he whispered.

“Harry Potter.”

“ _Crucio!_ ” Harry was hit with the full brunt of the curse. The pain took over everything - every thought he had, everything he saw, it all disappeared, making room for the pain, from his fingertips to the scar on his forehead. And then - it was gone.

“Who are you?” Malfoy demanded again.

Harry breathed heavily. “Harry Potter,” he said, and before he knew it, he was hit with the Cruciatus curse again.

“Who are you?” Malfoy shouted, or so it seemed to Harry, beyond walls of pain.

Finally the pain was gone, and he gasped for air. “It’s illegal, Malfoy,” he panted. “Unforgivable curses. You evaded - Azkaban - once. What are you doing?”

“What?” Malfoy sounded genuinely curious. Harry finally regained control over his screaming muscles, and with the help of the wooden chair in front of him, managed to pull himself back to his feet. Malfoy was studying him again, his brow furrowed, a frown on his face. “Unforgivable curses... do you realise who you’re talking to?”

“Draco Malfoy, the stupidest man on Planet Earth?” Harry hazarded. 

Malfoy gave him a hearty laugh. “Not a lot of people would say this to the Minister for Magic,” he said, but now his cold smile turned dangerous again.

“Minister - Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Minister for Magic!” 

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is dead,” Malfoy sneered at him, and all of a sudden, it hit Harry - the man was not faking it. 

“No,” he whispered. 

“Yes. And I will ask you again - _your name_.”

Harry screamed and screamed and screamed.

**25th December, 2010, 1:40 p.m.**

Harry wasn’t sure when he was brought back to the cell, or when the pain had actually stopped. He was just aware that, all of a sudden, the pain disappeared and he was in the cell again. He opened his eyes. Ron’s worried eyes peered at him from above. Above him, he could see the cell - dark, filthy, bare of even the most basic utilities, and on top of it, smelly. It was the sharp stench of blood that attacked him from all directions, old blood and dried blood and new and fresh blood, the blood of past prisoners who had been given the same horrible treatment as Harry and Ron got, and perhaps their blood, too, was already contributing to the stench.

“Mnpf,” Harry declared. 

“Merlin, Harry, I was worried,” Ron said in obvious relief. 

“I’m fine,” Harry groaned, and tried to get up, only to discover he wasn’t, in fact, fine, and that perhaps he would be better staying lying down. “Argh. How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes or so,” Ron said. “It’s hard to tell the time in this place.”

“Argh,” Harry repeated, perhaps for emphasis. “I’m going to _kill_ Malfoy, that ingrate, good-for-nothing - “ he tried to get up again, and failed. “Argh.” 

He stayed with his head resting on Ron for a while longer. He must have lost consciousness again, because he woke up all of a sudden with Ron shaking him. “Harry,” Ron kept on saying, “Harry!”

“Wha - what?” he asked.

“Listen!” 

Harry listened. Something was going on outside. People were screaming, people were shouting, and the noises of something shattering could be heard. It sounded almost like a raid. Harry immediately perked his head. “You think it’s the rest of the Aurors?” he asked.

“Could be,” Ron said. They stared at the door, unsure whether to shout that they were there - or try to remain as inconspicuous as possible.

In the end, events chose the course of action for them. Someone hit the door with a curse, and it flew open. Ron got up first, then helped Harry, and the two proceeded to face the door in suspicion. But it was only Dean Thomas.

“Dean!” Ron said. “You have no idea how glad we are to see you, mate!”

“God, you’re alive,” Dean said with obvious relief. “We were afraid... where’s Neville and Hermione?”

“Hermione?!” Ron said in alarm. Harry, sharing his panic, looked at Dean. Hermione couldn’t possibly be there - with her so far gone - tortured by Malfoy... 

“Yes - Hermione! And Neville! Where are they?!”

“I don’t know - we’ve only been in this cell, just the two of us, since they captured us,” Harry said. Next to him, Ron had gone pale. “She’s alright, Ron. Honest. She’s alright. She’s not here, she’s going to have the baby, everything’s fine.”

Dean swore. “Listen, we’ve got to go. If Padma doesn’t find them... we’ll just have to come back another time.”

“I’m not leaving Hermione here!” Ron found his voice again.

“Ron - we’ll all get captured if we stay here a moment longer. Please.”

Someone else showed up. For a moment, Harry and Ron tensed again - but then they saw it wasn’t Malfoy or any of his goons. It was... Luna Lovegood? 

“What the hell is going on?” Harry demanded. 

Luna ignored him. “We’ve searched everywhere. They’re not here. Malfoy must have moved them.”

Dean swore again. “Okay, scrap that,” he said. “Get Padma and let’s get out of here. Harry - Ron - _move, damn it_!”

They moved. Luna led the way, cursing everyone who stood in their way, together with Dean. At some point, Padma Patil had joined them. Harry and Ron, with their wands still at Malfoy’s hands, could only do their best to duck any stray curses.

Something was wrong. Not just that that they were there, in what proved to be an exact replica of the Ministry for Magic in any way - if somewhat darker and dirtier - but in the people around them. Much like Malfoy, Dean, Luna and Padma had no qualms about performing Unforgivable Curses in front of them. Next to all the regular curses, the Cruciatus Curse and the Killing Curse were shooting in all directions, from them to the opponents just as much as from their opposition towards them.

He couldn’t complain _exactly_ \- getting broken out of that filthy cell was definitely a better fate than being tortured by Malfoy - but... “Do they even _care_ I work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?!” he whispered to Ron as they ducked and their three saviours shot three Killing Curses in all directions.

“I don’t think this is the time to bring this up,” Ron pointed out. Harry grumbled in response. If only he had his wand... 

Still, there was nothing for it - not right now. So, they ran - as much as it was possible for Harry to run, leaning on Ron for support - and soon they found their way to the lifts and to the Atrium. In no time, the Atrium looked much like the cells - full of stunned people, or perhaps, dead bodies. Harry thought of asking what the hell was going on yet again, but there was no time. They all rushed to the entrance, and before they realised it - they were in Muggle London.

Once up there, they started drawing some serious attention. Dean, Luna and Padma were joined by Padma’s sister, Parvati, all with their wands out and ready to strike at any surprise assailant. And Harry and Ron, bleeding and dirty, were running behind them. They didn’t confuse the passing Muggles for long - Dean led the way through small streets and hidden alleys, until they reached a small house. Harry and Ron were ushered inside unceremoniously.

Once at the entrance of the house, they had some time to breathe and take it all in. It was obviously lived in - there were jackets thrown all over the coat hanger, and some on the banister. A box with books was used to hold open the door of the living room. Harry picked up one of the books - Agatha Christie. A book even the Dursleys had. He looked at another one. Another popular Muggle author - what were these books doing here? he wondered, but didn’t have time to wonder for long. “Harry,” he heard Ron saying in a strained, strange voice. He looked up.

Ron was looking at the photographs on the wall. In them, people were moving - wizard photographs. And these people were all familiar - Dean and Parvati and Luna, Parvati and Padma, Neville Longbottom and another one of their Hogwarts classmates, Anthony Goldstein, and then - Harry stared at the last picture, the same one in front of which Ron stopped. It was Ron and Hermione, but they didn’t look like themselves at all. Harry was reminded of Malfoy’s words. _You don’t look like Potter, you don’t sound like Potter_... that was that picture, in essence. It was Ron and Hermione, but the grim expression on Ron’s face, the scar that stretched on Hermione’s face, the way they held each other in need, even in this photograph - that _wasn’t_ Ron and Hermione. 

“What the hell is going on,” Ron said hoarsely.

“We’re going to find out,” Harry said, and marched to where the rest had disappeared to, into the kitchen. 

Dean was sitting on a table, bleeding from his arm. Next to him, a man stood, trying to stop the bleeding. “Stand - still!” he said in exasperation, and Harry recognised him. It was Anthony Goldstein. Luna had also collapsed on a chair, nursing a small wound.

Now that Harry had the chance to look at them without deadly curses flying around, he thought they rather looked like that picture - not like themselves at all. Anthony and Dean he had not seen for several years, so, in theory, they _could_ have become so thin and raggedy, so wild looking and grim. But Luna? She and Rolf had been to their house that very weekend. She was better groomed, better fed, and much happier than the way she looked now.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded. 

The three looked at him - and, much like himself, appeared to see him properly for the first time.

Dean jumped to his feet in alarm. Anthony grabbed his wand. Only Luna seemed undisturbed. “Looks like we have saved the wrong Harry Potter,” she said, her voice much less dreamy than usual, but still with some dreamy quality in it. “And the wrong Ron Weasley,” she added, after surveying Ron critically. 

“I want to know what’s going on here,” Harry said, trying to remain calm. “Right now.”

“Who are you?” Anthony demanded, his wand aimed at Harry’s heart. 

“Harry - Potter - for heaven’s sake - what’s going on here! You lot look like you’re fighting a war! _Draco Malfoy_ claiming to be the Minister for Magic!” He laughed a mirthless laughter - closer to hysterical. He’d been tortured, starved, and repeatedly cursed in the past twelve hours. He wanted some answers, and he wanted them now. “Why are you all acting like you’ve lost your minds?!”

“Draco Malfoy _is_ the Minister for Magic,” Dean said. “Ever since we killed Voldemort, two years ago.”

Harry froze. Two years - have they travelled in time? He looked at Ron, full of questions. But not - couldn’t be - the people in front of him didn’t look twenty years old. “What year is this?” he asked carefully.

Dean and Anthony exchange glances. Luna didn’t seem to mind the question. “2010. About to be the end of it, actually. Christmas, 2010.”

Not time travel, then. But - “Voldemort died twelve years ago,” he said. “At Hogwarts. I was there. I defeated him! We’ve rebuilt the entire wizarding world since. I work at the Ministry, damn it, I’m the head of the Auror Office!”

Dean and Anthony looked at each other. Anthony’s expression was full of sadness when he shook his head. “No, Harry,” he said. “Nothing like that ever happened.”

**25th December, 2010, 3:15 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

That there had been neither body nor grave, no last remains nor a last resting place for the Boy Who Lived was not an indication that he could, in some way, have miraculously survive. That had been Albus Dumbledore’s morose stance ever since the boy had disappeared at the centre of the maze.

And now, thanks to the help of a woman who had been dead for nineteen years, he was finally proven right. 

The Muggle newspaper was called _The Great Hangleton Gazette_. The copy was one from some fifteen years previously, four years after Hermione Granger died. But still, she was correct, for the paper said exactly what she had predicted - even if, by the time it was published, she had been dead and buried for years.

The headline talked of a body which was found in the local graveyard. The body of a teenager. There were signs of violence on the body, it said, but no indication of drugs or alcohol. The boy was not known to any of the residents of Great Hangleton, nor to those of the nearby village, Little Hangleton. Based on evidence found in the graveyard - and the very fact that the boy was apparently murderer there - the police had declared that the unknown teenager must have been the victim of some Satanist ritual.

The picture in the front page did not move.

Hermione Granger had brought another newspaper, together with the first one. The boy was buried a John Doe by the authorities - none of his family came to claim him, no one had reported a missing boy who answered to his description. Ironically, legal problems and various bureaucratic procedures had dictated that he was not buried at the cemetery of Great Hangleton, but, in fact, in the very same graveyard where his body was found.

Somewhere in the Little Hangleton cemetery, the remains of the Boy Who Lived lay in a Muggle-dug grave, marked as an anonymous victim of a senseless murder.

They didn’t go to the cemetery in the middle of the night, when Hermione Granger had explained her theory, but during the day. It might as well have been night. The winter sky, covered by thick clouds, offered only a little light, which the snow on the ground failed to reflect. In the exposed graveyard, there was no respite from the wind.

Hermione watched Augusta Longbottom. What a terrible way to spend Christmas day, she thought. The old woman was standing in front of the grave. There was no name on it - after all, her grandson was not buried under his own name. She did not cry. There was nothing but grim determination on her face. She did, however, raise her wand and aimed it at the grave. A blinding flash, and now it had a tombstone, a large, white cover, that brightened the place, if just a little bit. There was no special inscription on it, no dedication, just a name and date. Having buried her son, her daughter-in-law, and now, finally, her grandson, Augusta Longbottom was not prone to sentimentality. 

Someone put a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Harry’s freaking out a bit,” Ron said quietly.

She nodded. That did not come as a surprise. The truth was, they were all freaking out a bit. Hermione and Ron were just better at hiding it. She didn’t bother saying that, of course - Ron knew it perfectly well. Instead, she just said, “Don’t let him talk to Mrs Longbottom.”

“Don’t worry,” he said and got up - undoubtedly, to steer Harry away from any uncomfortable conversations. Near the grave, Albus Dumbledore finished talking to Augusta Longbottom. Hermione approached them slowly.

“Mrs Longbottom,” she said gently. Augusta turned back and studied her. She looked just like Hermione remembered - stern, measured, with a vulture on her hat and a red bag in her hand. “I wanted to... you don’t know me,” she said quietly, “but I knew Neville - ” far longer than I can admit to you - “and I wanted to say... I’m sorry.”

“I’ve known my grandson is dead for quite a while,” Mrs Longbottom said, “but thank you. I understand you’re the person I should thank for finding him?”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. She dreaded the next question - how could she explain _how_ she had known where Neville was killed, where to look for the grave? But Mrs Longbottom didn’t seem interested in these questions. She just looked for a moment longer at Hermione, said, “Thank you,” and went on her way. 

It was lucky she left then, because by then a harassed-looking Ron had lost his battle to stop Harry from approaching the grave. Ron was right, of course - he was freaking out. Restless, he walked up and down the grave, standing every once in a while to look at the name, tapping his foot on the ground, his empty hand on his trousers. Hermione and Ron got their wands back by now, but Dumbledore was still reluctant to give Harry back his own wand. In fact, he had hardly given Harry a second glance, after the interrogation in his office. It didn’t surprise Hermione, of course, and the truth was Harry had so much trouble these days controlling his magic that his wand generally didn’t do much good. But still it upset her, to see him tapping like that with an empty hand. 

“You okay?” she walked towards him and asked him quietly.

“Yeah... yeah... I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s just - this place. You know.” She knew.

“Look, Hermione...” he started hesitantly again. “It’s not... it’s not Neville here.”

“I think it is,” she said quietly.

“No, what I meant was... it’s not _Neville_ Neville. It’s like Dumbledore here, or Sirius, or Lupin, or - ” he paused. “Like the lot of them. It’s not _Neville_. Like the Ron who died isn’t Ron. And he’s got him. We’ve got to get him out.”

“We’re not going to just let Voldemort have him. Don’t worry.” 

“But Voldemort’s _dead_!”

Hermione shook her head. “And so is Dumbledore, and everyone else here. We can’t let that convince us that Voldemort isn’t real - oh, this is ridiculous!” She said in exasperation. It was. None of them could tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. She took a deep breath, then tried again. “Regulus said he’s alive. They said so last night, Regulus is spying for the Order. So he must be alive, even though we killed him. Just like this is Neville’s grave, even though Neville is his prisoner.”

“We need to get Neville out,” Harry said again.

“I know. But we have to have help, Harry - look at us, we can’t even defeat Malfoy!”

“She has a point,” Ron said, shaking his head. “Can’t get my head around it, but she has a point. We could use some help on this. Personally, I don’t fancy facing Voldemort again,” he shuddered, and Hermione wasn’t sure whether because of the cold, or because of the thought of Voldemort.

“We’ll get them to help us,” she said. “I promise.”

“And if not?” Harry insisted.

“Then we’ll go on our own. But give us a chance to talk to them first, alright?” He didn’t reply. “Alright?” she asked again and then, grudgingly, he nodded.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay,” Ron agreed.

“Okay,” she smiled.

**25th December, 2010, 6:10 p.m.**

“We seem to have run into a conundrum of sorts,” Dumbledore announced.

They were back in his office. Not all of them had returned to Hogwarts immediately - James Potter Apparated to check on his family and bring them to Hogwarts, apparently unsatisfied with whatever security measures they had in their Godric’s Hollow home. Lily and Snape had left to check on their own children - what an odd image, Hermione thought, and shook her head. Sirius and Remus went to check on the Weasleys, who were still at Hogwarts’ hospital wing. Regulus had long ago returned to his place at Voldemort’s side, keeping his pretence of a loyal servant. 

Hermione, together with Ron and Harry, were asked by Dumbledore to come with him to his office, until the rest returned. He did not spend the time offering tea and cake. Just as Hermione suspected, he started asking them questions. How did he die. How did Severus die. How did Lily die. How did Remus die, and Sirius, and James. Hermione answered most of the questions, with Ron pointing out a detail here and there that she had forgotten in her haste. Harry mainly walked up and down the room, like a caged lion. 

Every once in a while, he interfered. When Dumbledore asked about the Triwizard Tournament, how Hermione knew the location of Neville’s body, it was Harry who answered - short and to the point. He also told Dumbledore of Sirius’s death - and of his own - or, at least, an abridged version of his death. 

“You were murdered by Death Eaters. They broke into Hogwarts...” he said quietly. “Managed to get inside thanks to Draco Malfoy,” he spat the name. “Voldemort had given him the task, you see.”

Hermione thought she couldn’t have told the story better if she tried - no hint of Horcruxes, just as they discussed the night before. They would have to confess sooner or later, she knew, that they knew about the Horcruxes. But better keep some information to themselves. At least until they understood more.

An hour or so later, and the entire group reassembled in the office. By then, Dumbledore had finished questioning them - for the moment, Hermione suspected - and was now looking at the entire group.

“We seem,” he said, “to have run into a conundrum of sorts.” He paused, then continued. “Either Neville Longbottom is dead, and so are Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger,” he tactfully ignored the question that was Harry, “and Lord Voldemort is alive - or the other option is true, and he is dead, and so are all of us.”

“I think I’m alive,” Sirius said in a joking tone. “Don’t you, Remus?”

“Yes,” Remus said carefully, “I had a beating heart, the last time I checked.”

“Ahem,” Dumbledore said diplomatically, and the two stopped talking. 

“There is, of course, a third option,” Hermione said carefully. “They’re both true.”

“Quite,” Dumbledore said mysteriously.

“Okay, let’s dwell on this for just a moment,” Remus said, ever the voice of reason. “I don’t know of any magic that can do - this. Bring people back from the dead, remembering events from the past that never happened - this just doesn’t happen, Dumbledore.”

“I have various theories, all of which are highly unlikely,” Dumbledore said. “However, for the time being, it looks as if we will simply have to accept that it has happened. This is the reality we’re facing - two realities, if you please: the one we are living in, and the one our friends here insist that they know.

“Which brings us, I’m afraid, to a rather problematic topic. The one, of course, of Lord Voldemort. They claim that in their memories, he is dead.”

Sirius whistled. Lily gasped. James swore. Snape, however, eyed them suspiciously.

“They could be lying,” he said in his unpleasant voice, one Hermione remembered so well.

“I think, Severus, we would do well not to unnecessarily antagonise them,” Dumbledore chided him. “For the moment, we will assume that what they are telling us is the truth.”

Hermione pursed her lips. She could see where this was going. Something inside her rebelled - Albus Dumbledore, playing with people’s lives in order to advance his own agenda? Then, next to her, Harry snorted.

Perhaps she should not be so surprised.

“Let me guess,” Harry got up now, and faced Dumbledore. “First we tell you how we defeated Voldemort, and then you help us get Neville out.” 

“I guess it’s okay to antagonise us when it’s necessary, mate,” Ron muttered. Everyone in the room laughed - even Dumbledore allowed himself a small smile.

“Quite, Mr Weasley,” he said. “And yes, that was the bargain I was about to suggest.”

“Neville’s in mortal danger there. Especially if Voldemort thinks he’s the one destined to kill him,” Harry burst. “We don’t have the time to sit here and - and talk! - while he’s in there. We need to act. Now. With or without you, we need to go.”

“Mr Potter!” Dumbledore’s voice was loud and terrible. Harry, who had already turned his back to the Headmaster, ready to leave the room, stopped. Slowly, he turned back towards Dumbledore.

“Had breaking into Lord Voldemort’s fortress been such an easy task, we would have done so long ago. Had _destroying_ Lord Voldemort’s power been such an easy task, we would have done so already. Going there, on your own, right now, will be a suicide mission. You will not help your friend - the most you will do is get yourselves captured. And I am afraid, _Mr Potter_ , that Voldemort will have one look at you, and come to quite the same conclusions as I have.”

Hermione got to her feet automatically. Next to her, Ron did the same. “You’ve crossed the line, _Headmaster_ ,” she said angrily. She didn’t need to look at Harry to know he had gone pale, shaking slightly next to her. 

“Erm, does anyone care to fill us in?” Sirius asked from behind them, clearly confused. 

“Never mind that,” Hermione snapped, still glaring at Dumbledore. “Fine - we’ll help you - yes, Harry, that _is_ the best solution.” She didn’t wait for him to actually talk, she just knew he would. “The best way we can get to Neville is to kill Voldemort. We already know how, don’t we?” She looked at Dumbledore.

To her surprise, he didn’t have a knowing smile on his face. He looked - confused. Was it possible he didn’t know?

As if confirming the thought, the old wizard now frowned and said, “What do you mean by ‘how’, Ms Granger?”

Hermione looked at Harry and Ron. They had known each other for so long, they did not need to have this discussion out loud. It was simple, really: Voldemort was a danger to them, too. These people, to the best of their knowledge, did not know about the Horcruxes. They needed their help. Getting the Horcruxes would be the fastest way to get Neville out. 

There was no question, really.

She still looked at Harry and Ron when she next spoke. “Lord Voldemort has created a number of Horcruxes, Headmaster. He cannot be killed until they are destroyed.”

The old headmaster looked at her for a moment, but when he next spoke, it wasn’t to Hermione. “The perhaps it would be best if we went to visit George Weasley,” he said. It took one glance to see who he was looking at - Ginny Weasley, who stood at the door. 

“George is awake,” she said.

**25th December, 2010, 7 p.m.**

Somewhere, at the back of his head, Ron knew this must be a lot harder on Harry than he was letting on. He wasn’t very good at controlling his feelings - that was another thing Voldemort had taken from him during those long ten years. But all in all, he couldn’t help but think Harry was dealing incredibly well with the strange appearance of his parents, of Sirius and of Remus.

They were all rattled - Ron was, too, seeing Sirius and Remus like that. And even more rattled to realise they were, to the best of his judgement, best friends with Snape. But James and Lily Potter... he couldn’t even begin to understand what that must have felt like for Harry. He thought he would never be able to understand.

He was wrong.

Ginny didn’t notice him at first. He was standing behind Hermione, behind Harry, partially occluded by the various instruments in Dumbledore’s office, by a strange pillar, by Fawkes’s stand. He didn’t even see her properly.

He didn’t need to. He recognised her voice. She’d been dead for two years, and still, he recognised her voice like he last talked to her yesterday.

And not just that. “George is awake,” she said, and for the first time it crossed his mind that maybe, with everything turned upside down and all of the dead people they had known coming to life - maybe it included his family, too.

He pushed through the people before him, with one thing on his mind. “Ginny.”

She froze now. She looked at him as if she couldn’t believe it - of course, like James Potter, like Remus Lupin... she thought he was dead. Just like he thought she was, too. All of a sudden, the memory of that day, the day Hermione came back to their hiding place and told him the news, that Ginny was dead, it didn’t matter anymore. 

None of that was real. The only real thing was that Ginny was standing there, in front of him, very much alive. 

“Ron!” she said, with just as much shock, and they were hugging.

None of it mattered. Not that Voldemort was alive. Not that everyone thought he and Hermione were dead. Not that they had been to Neville’s grave, just a few hours earlier. None of it changed a thing. His family was alive. 

Ginny, however, broke the embrace all of a sudden and looked at Dumbledore suspiciously. “Is he really?” she asked. “Is that really Ron?”

“I believe he is, Ginny,” Dumbledore said, and Ron could hear the smile in his voice, and Ginny was hugging him again. “I thought you were dead, we thought you were dead, we buried you - oh!” she called all of a sudden. “Mum and Dad! They’re here, with George, we have to go to them, and George too, come on!”

They forgot all about the others as she led him towards the hospital wing.

“Mum and Dad, they’ll be so excited to see you, you wait,” she said. “Mum’s never been the same.” 

Ron thought for a second about his mother, the last he had heard of her. He didn’t get the chance to see her before she died. They were running for their lives - Voldemort had just been defeated, they were going to celebrate, he already fantasised of freeing his family, seeing them again... and then Malfoy took over and they had to run. And once again everything was lost. Not anymore, he thought as he held her hand. Not anymore.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Ron?” Ginny asked all of a sudden. “It nearly ruined her. If only she’d known you’re alive...”

“I couldn’t. I don’t - I don’t understand it myself.” And wasn’t that the truth. “I can’t explain. It’s all so mental, everything that’s been going on in the past day. Maybe Dumbledore could explain.”

Ginny laughed. “I have no idea what you’re saying,” she said.

“Does it matter?”

“Not one bit.”

He laughed, too, and they entered the hospital wing together. 

George was lying on a bed, looking weak and pale. His flaming red hair stood in terrible contrast to the rest of him, white and ghostly, and the colourless hospital gown didn’t help. But he was sitting up - already an improvement, from what Ginny had said - and his mum was helping him eat something out of a bowl. 

“Dumbledore,” he croaked. 

“I’m here, my boy,” Dumbledore said, and approached the bed. Molly Weasley looked around, searching for her daughter - and screamed. The bowl fell on the floor, smashed into a thousand pieces.

“Mum - it’s him - its Ron!” Ginny said with a huge smile.

“Ron!” Molly screamed again, and rushed to embrace him. In the mayhem, George and Dumbledore were forgotten. He hugged his mother, then his father, then Fred, then Percy... some of them had died more than a decade ago, some of them had died only a couple of years ago, some of them had died between that time period, and here they were, all alive, all well, all happy to see him. And all the time, they kept on asking one word. How. 

He didn’t hear Dumbledore’s words at first. Only when Dumbledore said, “Molly!” rather sharply did his mother let go of him, and looked at Dumbledore in wonder. “Molly,” he said again, sounding anxious, “I will explain everything, but later. First, it is of the utmost importance that we hear what George has to say.”

“Right, right...” his mother said, and Ron couldn’t help but think that for the moment, she had more pressing things on her mind.

George eyed him for a moment, and stretched his hand to him. Ron took it gladly, and sat down at his brother’s bed. “I’m here, George,” he whispered. “Go on.”

George nodded. “Voldemort...” he said, shuddering at the name. “He’s got... he’s done something. Something terrible. Long ago, I think. Something to make him immortal.”

He coughed. Madam Pomfrey rushed with a potion, but left when she received a stern look from Dumbledore. “Go on, George,” he said. “This is vital.”

“I don’t really know what he did. I don’t understand any of that stuff.” George’s hand was still holding tight to Ron. “I think I don’t understand a lot of things now,” he smiled as he looked at Ron’s face. Ron pressed his hand into George’s. 

With his other hand, George was trying to reach for the glass of water that stood on the bedside table. “Hold on,” Ron said, and brought the water to his lips. George drank gratefully, then nodded. Enough. “It’s something called... Horcrux. Something like that. Even his Death Eaters don’t know about it.”

Horcruxes! Again! Dumbledore was looking from George to Hermione. They just had their story corroborated by the most unexpected of testimonies. 

Ron couldn’t help but beam at Hermione - that had to be good news. Hermione, however, did not look pleased. Her lips had remained pursed, unhappy.

“It would appear, Ms Granger, that your memories... conflate with ours,” Dumbledore said carefully.

“It would appear so, yes,” she said.

“In which case, there’s only one way to proceed.”

To Ron’s surprise, Hermione sighed. “I was afraid of that,” she said.

**25th December, 2010, 9 p.m.**

“We need to establish some ground rules,” Hermione declared. She could feel the rest looking at her in surprise, but she didn’t care. Now that their story - their memories, their lives, in a way - had been confirmed by George, she finally felt she had the power to make such declarations.

Dumbledore, however, did not seem much disturbed by it. “What did you have in mind, Ms Granger?” he asked pleasantly.

“Harry gets his wand back, for starters,” she said. 

Dumbledore smiled a small smile. He was sitting, once again, behind his great desk. The Wealseys - including James Potter, and, to Hermione’s great displeasure, Ron - chose to remain in the hospital wing, celebrating their unexpected reunion. Hermione and Harry had followed Dumbledore, together with Lily, Snape and Remus, back to his office, where he sat down behind his desk and said nothing. His eyes were on her the entire time.

Now, he smiled that small smile, then removed the wand from his pocket. He handed it - not to Harry, but to her. Biting back her scathing words, she took it, and handed it to Harry. He looked from her to Dumbledore, then reached tentatively for the wand. Small sparks came out of it when he grabbed it.

“Is that all, Ms Granger?” Dumbledore asked.

“No. We’re going to need your help - all of your help,” she glared at the people in the room. “The Horcruxes are pieces of Voldemort’s soul. They are dangerous even when they are not protected, and some of them are protected by the worst of spells.”

She sneaked a glance at Harry. He wasn’t listening to her - rather, he was busy playing with his wand. “Harry!” she snapped. He raised his head. 

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbled. “Horcruxes.” His face contorted into an ugly expression. Hermione could not blame him. 

“I think,” she said carefully, “perhaps we should start with the easier option. Just to prove to the Headmaster we’re not hoodwinking him.”

“Or, that your information is correct, despite the differences between your memories and reality,” he said.

“I don’t know about _reality_ , Headmaster,” she snapped at him again. “But yes. That, too. Come on, Harry, I think we both know the easiest one to find.”

“Wait,” Dumbledore stopped them. “Perhaps, someone should accompany you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I insist.” 

Hermione shrugged. “Very well. Did you have anyone in mind?”

If she had the option to choose, she would have taken Remus. How she longed to talk to him again, to hear how he was doing. The happy reunion between Ron and his family had reawakened feelings in her she thought she had buried long ago. When they left Ron, he was chatting happily with his family, hugging and laughing... she closed her eyes. No, not Remus. 

“Perhaps Lily should come with you,” Dumbledore suggested, and Hermione accepted the suggestion. 

The three of them left the office together - Hermione and Lily first, Harry walking slowly behind them. He didn’t seem to want to walk with them. Hermione couldn’t really blame him.

She sneaked a look at the woman next to her - Lily Evans-Snape. What a weird combination, she thought.

“How long have you been married to Sn - to Severus?” she asked in her friendliest voice.

“Oh,” Lily said, sounding surprised, and Hermione suspected this was not the question she expected to hear. “Some 25 years now.”

“That long, huh?” Hermione muttered without thinking. So, she thought, they got married long after James and Lily got married. Maybe that had something to do with James Potter? “And you and James Potter never - ”

“God, no,” Lily didn’t even let her finish the sentence. “I mean, he’s a lot more decent these days, but back in our school years... he was pretty insufferable.”

“Very different from Severus, then?”

“Oh, yes. Sev and I have been friends since before Hogwarts.”

“Must have been weird, though - I mean, you were in Gryffindor, he was in Slytherin... in my days, Gryffindor and Slytherin were sort of... well, we would never be friends.”

Lily laughed. “Yes, it was a bit like that, too. Potter often told me and Remus off for, what was it?” her voice became slightly annoyed, colder. “Ah, yes. ‘Fraternising with the Snakes’.” She was definitely still angry with James Potter, then, Hermione thought, judging by her voice.Then Lily relaxed and laughed a bit. “I used to shout at him every time he said that, but Remus was a lot more calm. Simply told him it was none of his business who our friends were, and if he would do us the favour of leaving us alone. And then, if Sev and Sirius ever heard that...” she chuckled. 

Hermione nodded, trying to absorb it all in. Lily’s story made no sense, of course, but it was strangely consistent with the behaviour she had witnessed until now.

She thought about asking something else, but the other woman spoke first, putting into words what was clearly burdening her mind. “My son’s name is Harry, too.” She looked behind her, and Hermione followed her gaze. It didn’t look as if Harry had heard them.

“Yeah,” Hermione said now, keeping her voice low. “That was your father’s name, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lily confirmed. “My parents died in a car crash when I was still in school.” 

“I know,” Hermione said. Harry had told them, once when they had asked how come he had to stay with his aunt and uncle - Ron, in particular, with his big family and so many relatives, could not wrap it around his head that Harry’s only living relative was his aunt Petunia.

But that wasn’t really what this stranger was thinking about, was it? “In your memories...” Lily started hesitantly again. “Do you think you know me? I mean - do you remember? Knowing me?”

Hermione didn’t answer. 

“Do you?”

“I don’t - it’s complicated.” 

“I already _have_ a son named Harry,” she insisted again. “And this man, he looks so...”

“Strange?” Hermione offered. “Weird? Unbalanced?”

“Like James Potter,” Lily said. Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. 

They were almost at the door of the Room of Requirement when Lily next spoke. “Why?” she asked all of a sudden. It looked like she had debated with herself whether to ask that question for quite a while. “Why would Voldemort hold him prisoner for so long? Usually he just kills people. Even Neville Longbottom, if you and Dumbledore are correct... why keep _him_ alive?”

“It’s complicated.” Hermione was not yet ready to give her answers, not on that topic.

“I suppose, if I were the person you remember, I’d have dealt with it better,” Lily mused, more to herself than to the Hermione. “I can’t imagine Harry - my Harry, that is, if he’d ever been... I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me,” she hastened to say. “If I remembered him I would have done everything in my power, you know? To help him. I just... I don’t know this man. I’m sorry.”

Hermione didn’t reply. 

She shouldn’t judge this woman, she thought to herself. She’s not in her shoes. What would Hermione do if she found out all of a sudden she had a son? And besides, Lily didn’t understand. She didn’t know Harry. She didn’t know everything he - the three of them, really - anything about what they had been through. Hermione shouldn’t expect her to understand. Still she couldn’t help but feel angry with the woman’s words.

“I hope, in his memories, I treated him well,” Lily added. Hermione said nothing. They were right at the tapestry of the tutu-wearing trolls. 

Harry didn’t wait for a sign from either of them. He walked three time past the blank wall - and there it was, the familiar door. “This is the diadem?” she asked Harry in a low voice. He nodded. They started searching the room. Lily just stood at the entrance, confused.

It took them half an hour or so to find it. The room was packed with small, unimportant, often broken things. She tried hard to remember where it was that they had found the diadem all those years ago - on a statue, wasn’t it? Perhaps on a wig? She wandered around aimlessly, looking for anything that looked even remotely familiar. 

It took them even longer than she had expected at first. The had divided the room into three parts - each one to be searched by a different person. Hermione had gone through her own section of the room three times, until she was convinced - no wig there, no ugly bust. No diadem. Perhaps, she thought, Lily could not recognise it from their descriptions. After another fifteen minutes of going through Lily’s section, she had almost given up. Could it be that they were wrong? Could it be that the diadem was _not_ hidden in the Room of Requirement?

It was entirely accidental that she looked over, to Harry’s section of the room, and noticed it - the bust, the wig - the diadem. Harry had gone right by it, and missed it completely. 

“Harry,” she said softly, then pointed. He paused, looking at the direction she was pointing. After a moment, he realised what he was looking at. He grabbed the jewel, examined it for a moment, then nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t remember...”

“It’s alright,” she said encouragingly. She was a lot less encouraged than she let on, but in the end, they managed to find the diadem. For the moment, that was all that mattered. “That’s it,” she said. “Let’s go.”

A few minutes more, and they returned to Dumbledore’s office. “I believe, Headmaster, this should suffice as proof?” she asked, and put the diadem on his table. The old wizard took the old relic with shock written all over his face.

 **25th December, 2010, 10:12 p.m. X removed to S’:**

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Harry and Ron sat quietly and listened to Anthony’s story. It sounded like a bad dream. A nightmare. It couldn’t be. Voldemort had won.The world around them collapsed. All the Muggle-borns were sent to camps. Those who kept on fighting were punished by the Death Eaters, then followed, restricted. A world of nightmare where the Death Eaters still ruled, where, even once Voldemort was killed, it was already too late, Malfoy just took over and started it all over again... It went on and on and on. A never ending story of death and destruction and ruin.

Anthony did most of the talking, although they were all there. The rest didn’t want to talk. He himself was the last one to suffer, Anthony said in a quiet voice at some point. His relative, the Death Eater... I had a better time than this lot, most of the time, he said. He looked at Dean when he said those words. Dean, who was sitting on a chair by the table, his head between his hands. Harry thought he was trying to stop himself from shaking. 

At some point - when Anthony told them about the fate of the Muggle-borns who had survived the battle - Padma got up, put her hand on Dean’s shoulder, who took it and squeezed it without a word. He was shaking in earnest now. Luna and Parvati just looked at each other, helpless. Harry had a sick feeling in his stomach, a lump in his throat, and he averted his eyes back to Anthony. 

When he couldn’t look even at Anthony anymore, when the stories of all their loved ones enslaved and murdered had become too much, mixed into one another, he looked at Ron instead. It wasn’t much of a comfort. Ron looked a lot more like he did in that terrifying photograph - pale, worried, grim. 

Harry got up and started pacing up and down the room. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be happening. It _wasn’t_ happening. “This _isn’t_ real,” he insisted, looking at their faces. “This can’t be happening.”

“That’s the world we’ve been living in for the past twelve years, Harry,” Dean said.

“But it just didn’t happen like that!” 

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Ron said all of a sudden. “We remember that Harry defeated Voldemort. You’re saying Voldemort won, back at the Battle of Hogwarts. So, what - Harry died? I mean, he’s right here, you can see him!”

“Yeah, exactly,” Harry held on to that one last thread of sanity. “Yeah, how can I be here if Voldemort won? He’d never let me live, he was terrified because of the prophecy.”

Dean and Anthony looked at each other. They looked terribly uncomfortable.

“Voldemort... didn’t kill you, Harry.”

“So, how did he win? I mean, I wouldn’t have stopped fighting him, that’s how I won, I pretended to be dead and then when he came claiming victory, that’s what saved my life.”

Dean closed his eyes. Anthony studied his fingers. 

“What?”

“You were taken prisoner, Harry,” Luna said gently. “Maybe that’s why you don’t remember. Maybe, because of Malfoy’s...” she didn’t finish the sentence. “You were Voldemort’s prisoner. For ten years.”

Harry shook his head. This was mental. That couldn’t be. He gave a small, shaky laugh. “I think I’d know if I were imprisoned for ten years by Voldemort,” he said, trying to laugh it off. Even Ron didn’t laugh.

“Maybe... you’re sort of... trying to forget,” Dean suggested gently. 

“What, like Muggle psychology and nonsense like that?” Harry stared at him. Dean shrugged.

“There were times, after Parvati and Padma got me out of the camp...” he shuddered. “I don’t blame you, mate. That place...” the rest was written on his face, even though he didn’t say it out loud - Harry, it was obvious, was a mental case, at least as far as Dean was concerned. What difference did it make?

But Harry knew better. From the depth of his robes, he pulled it, the one thing the Death Eaters - if they really were Death Eaters, as ridiculous as that idea was - had missed. His wallet. He opened it with a victorious call, and threw the evidence on the table. It was all there. “Am I hallucinating this?” he asked, showing the contents of his wallet to the people in the room, smiling in relief. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t dreaming. This really _wasn’t_ happening - he had the proof right there in front of him. The world as he remembered it really did exist. 

Dean looked at them in shock - the photographs. Harry’s family. Anthony grabbed a photograph as well, as did Luna. They were staring at them with their mouths open. 

“See?” Harry said, slightly smug - although there really wasn’t anything to be smug about, not in this nightmare of a world. “I’m not hallucinating anything. That’s my family, right there. James is four, he’s a right menace now. Al’s two, can’t keep his mouth shut ever since he learned to talk properly. Lily was just born a couple of months ago. Here she is, with Ginny,” he showed the awe-struck audience. He glared at them. “My family’s real. My life is _real_.”

“But that’s not the world out there, Harry,” Anthony said quietly. “I don’t know how to explain this. But it’s never happened. Not here.”

“Well,” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it’s time we made sure it did happen here.”


	3. Prisoners of Azkaban

**25th December, 2010, 10:45 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

“Your Neville’s already dead, so that’s one down, I guess,” Hermione said in a somewhat apologetic voice.

Dumbledore awarded her a sharp look, but said nothing. Instead, he went back to studying the list. 

The diadem. The diary. The ring. The goblet. The locket. The snake. 

“Some of these are easier to find than others,” she said again, trying to be helpful. He shot a look at the diadem. Ron nudged her to stay quiet. “Some may be harder,” she added anyway, when she saw his eyes freezing at the end of the list.

“We can’t know that the list is accurate,” Dumbledore said softly.

“Well, the diadem’s here, isn’t it? It was exactly where we thought it’d be, and it was _what_ we thought it’d be. I don’t know where the differences between your memories and ours come from, but that’s not one of them!”

“Hermione, calm down,” Ron said next to her. “Dumbledore’s only trying to, I dunno, make sure not to get everyone’s hopes up, I guess. They’re our friends.”

“Are they?” she glared at Dumbledore, then at the rest of them.

“Let’s assume, for the moment, that we are,” Dumbledore said in a lighthearted tone, then put the list down. “Which item will be next, Ms Granger?”

Now she hesitated. She knew which item she would go for next - in her memories, it was simple. But even if the list _was_ accurate... she thought of what they had said when they met her. The Hermione Granger they remembered had died, twelve years old, by the hands of a troll. Because, and that was the crux of the matter, there was no Harry to save her.

And she wasn’t the only one Harry had saved as a boy. 

“Headmaster,” she started hesitantly, “has the... has the Chamber of Secrets been opened? About twenty years ago?”

From the look on Dumbledore’s face, she knew she was right. So far, it would seem, everything matched. 

“What happened?” she asked softly.

“Well,” he said, recovering quickly from the shock, “I assume you know who had opened it the first time.” She nodded, and he continued. “We never learned how he managed to do it a second time, I’m afraid. A few children were attacked, but none killed - all petrified. And then, one day... the attacks just stopped.”

Ron gaped at her. “You don’t think - ”

“Yes, I do. That settles it, in a way, doesn’t it? The diary _was_ here.”

“But the attacks stopped! Whoever was using the diary - ”

She shook her head. “Not whoever, Ron. You know who it was.”

“But - ” he protested. “It stopped! It can’t have been Ginny, because...”

“She threw the diary away, don’t you remember?” It was Harry who spoke now. “It did all stop.”

Hermione’s hand went flying to her mouth. “You’re right,” she said. “I forgot.” And to Dumbledore, she said, “We need to talk to Ginny Weasley.”

Ron was reluctant to talk to Ginny about the diary. What was the point? he asked. If everything was so similar, they already knew where it was, didn’t they?

But Hermione wanted to check, just in case, and Dumbledore was quick to agree with her. And so, despite Ron’s protests, Remus was sent to bring Ginny to Dumbledore’s office. They sat in silence until the two of them entered the room, Remus with an expression of mild confusion on his face, Ginny radiant with happiness.

“Hey, you,” she smiled at Ron, then thumped him on the shoulder. “George’s getting better, Mum said maybe we should go home.”

She didn’t pay much attention to anyone else in the room. She nodded to Hermione as she walked in. She did save Ginny’s life, after all, and it should be obvious to Ginny that she was close to Ron. But that was all. She didn’t know Hermione. And she completely ignored Harry.

Hermione wondered to herself how could Ginny have missed it - how Harry went pale every time she walked into the room, how his eyes were following her everywhere. But then, she had never met him. She didn’t know who he was. Hermione wasn’t sure Ron noticed it, either.

“Listen, Ginny,” Ron said now, slightly uncomfortable. “We need to talk.”

“Let’s talk over dinner tomorrow. Mum’s already planning what to cook and - ” Ginny paused. “What is it?”

Ron exchanged glances with Hermione. She could see what he was asking - please, have this conversation instead of me. For a moment, she resented that request. Ron got it all anyway - his family was alive, and they knew him and loved him and missed him. Why should she be the one to bring up the bad things? But then she sighed. In a way, that made his reasoning so much stronger.

“Ginny... we need to ask you about a diary you had. When you started Hogwarts.”

Ginny’s smile was wiped off her face. Another confirmation, but not a pleasant one.

“It held the memories of a boy, didn’t it? Tom Riddle?”

“How do you know?” Ginny whispered. 

“We need to know what you’ve done with it.”

“It was evil! It was... it’s not - you don’t want that diary!”

“I’m afraid we do, Ginny,” said Dumbledore. 

Perhaps it was the Headmaster taking a more active role in the discussion that had convinced her, Hermione wasn’t sure. But Ginny stopped protesting, and told them how she threw the diary back in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. “I don’t want to go there,” she said when she stopped.

“You don’t have to,” Hermione said gently. “I know where it is.”

Myrtle’s bathroom turned out to be abandoned. Perhaps, Hermione mused, she was hiding in her U-bend. Or swimming in the lake. Or spying on the people who were taking a shower, somewhere. With Myrtle, one could never know. 

She didn’t _want_ to know. She shook the thoughts of Myrtle’s creepy tendencies away, and started looking around the bathroom. No one ever went there - that much was a given. That was why Ginny had chosen it in the first place, she said. It wasn’t just a toilet where any other girl could walk in and meet Tom Riddle. It was one no girl would. And it had apparently worked - no sign of Slytherin’s monster since. Which meant the diary must still have been there - somewhere.

Her eyes caught sight of it before she realised what it was she was seeing. But there it was - a thin black book, in the far corner of the room, lying in the middle a water puddle. Hermione shook her head in wonder. Twenty years it had been lying there, and no one had ever noticed. She picked the diary gingerly and rushed back to the Headmaster’s office.

Sirius had shown up while she was gone, and was now joking with Remus, looking much happier than he did before. Even Remus’s spirits had lifted. “Hello,” she greeted them enthusiastically.

“Why, it’s the mysterious Ms Granger,” Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes. 

“What got you in such a good mood?” Ron demanded.

“You’re alive, we’re going to defeat Voldemort, why _not_ be in a good mood?” was Sirius’s response.

“Well, it’s a long way yet before we manage to defeat Voldemort,” Hermione said, and earned a muffled but distinct “Spoilsport” from Sirius. She ignored him, and handed over the diary to Dumbledore, who took it without a word. “Exactly where Ginny said it’d be,” she said. 

“Unfortunately, that’s also the last of the easy Horcruxes. This is where things get complicated.”

“Oh?” Sirius asked, refusing to let his spirit dampen.

“Yes. The diadem was hidden at Hogwarts from the beginning, and the dairy was given to Lucius Malfoy, who thought to use it for his own ends,” she snorted, “but the snake is by Voldemort’s side at all times, and the defences and spells surrounding the ring and the locket are extremely dangerous.”

Dumbledore consulted the list. “And the cup?” he asked pleasantly.

“That one’s in Bellatrix Lestrange’s Gringotts vault,” Hermione said darkly. “We had a very hard time breaking into Gringotts the first time round, and we only managed that because - well, it was complicated. I don’t see how we can pull that one off again, not if no one’s ever heard of Harry - what?” she finally noticed the shocked way Sirius, Remus and, yes, even Dumbledore were looking at her. “What did I say?”

“Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault?” Remus asked carefully.

“Yes. That’s where it’s hidden.” Dumbledore grabbed the edges of his seat, as if afraid he’d fall off, completely dumbfounded. Sirius and Remus just looked at each other, not saying a word. “Why?” she asked. 

In response, Sirius just roared with laughed.

 

**26th December, 2010, 12:22 a.m. X removed to S’:**

It was one thing to fight dark wizards when the power of the entire Ministry was behind them, when their reputation preceded them, and when the dark wizards in question were disorganised and alone. It was another thing entirely when they were the ones on the run.

Padma was talking quietly about the time she had spent as a prisoner in the Ministry, after she and Parvati had helped Dean escape. Harry rubbed his eyes. It had been going on like that the entire night - Parvati explained about the camps they were all put in at the beginning of the war; Anthony told them how he had helped Neville and his underground secretly; Luna told him about Hermione and Ron, who had escaped Hogwarts at the very last moment, and how they had started their little rebellion. Dean was mostly quiet. He only offered information about the last two years - ever since he had joined the rebellion, after Parvati and Padma broke him out. Harry couldn’t help but hold on to the photographs of his family, smiling and waving at him from the world they had built in the last twelve years. It was the only link to reality anymore, the only link to the world that made any sense at all. That - and Ron who sat next to him and listened to the stories together with him, horrified. 

“I don’t get it,” he said finally, got up and stared at the group of people he had thought he knew. “Ron and Hermione knew about the Horcruxes. Neville, too - I told him about the snake. He _killed_ the snake! How could this happen? How could you let this happen?”

Dean rose from his chair. “We didn’t _let_ anything happen, mate,” he said angrily. “We lost the war. Why didn’t Ron and Hermione do anything about that, if they knew how? Well, ask your pal over there, why don’t you,” he jerked his head in Ron’s direction.

They stood there, facing each other for a few seconds more, until Harry averted his gaze. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just...” he rubbed his eyes again. “I don’t know what this place is. I don’t know how we even got here. We were chasing some dark wizards who broke into the Ministry and all of a sudden we’re in a cell and Malfoy’s Minister and it’s like my worst nightmares all coming true.”

“Malfoy got Neville three days ago,” Anthony said quietly from his own corner. “He made a big announcement about that, rebels caught, blah blah blah. He was going to execute him.” Horrified, Harry sat down again. “Ron and Hermione and Harry - the Ron and Harry we remember, anyway - they went to rescue them on Christmas eve. We were the backup. We haven’t heard from them since, so we figured they were caught as well. Except we found you in the cells instead.”

“Could be time travel,” Ron said all of a sudden. “Maybe someone’s got a hold of a time-turner, and I don’t know, did something to let Voldemort win.”

Harry shook his head. “Why are we the only ones who remember it, then? Why is everyone else convinced this world is right? And my photographs - and where are Hermione and Neville, then?’

Padma let out a small, miserable sigh. Parvati immediately rushed to her. “They haven’t been executed,” she said encouragingly. “Malfoy would have said something.”

“Let’s assume, for the moment, it’s not time travel,” Harry said. “What else.”

“Does it matter?” Dean asked darkly.

“Yes, it matters! I want to go home. Back to reality as I remember it. I don’t want to be stuck in this nightmare!” Harry burst, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it all out on you. It’s...” he flailed his hands in frustration. He didn’t even have words enough to describe what _it_ was. 

“Harry,” Ron said now quietly, “he’s right. It doesn’t matter. Not as long as we’re hiding in this house from Malfoy and his Death Eaters. There’s no way we can figure out what happened and how to undo it when we’re on the run.”

“So we take down Malfoy,” Harry said.

Luna laughed. Dean snorted. Padma made a noise something between a sigh and a sob, he wasn’t quite sure. Even Anthony cracked a smile. “Yeah, Potter, real easy,” he said. “How on earth didn’t we think about that one before?”

Harry laughed too. “Okay, so I’m an arse,” he said. “Doesn’t mean Malfoy can’t be beaten. Don’t take it the wrong way, Goldstein - but maybe you lot have been on the run for so long, you just don’t know how to win anymore.”

“And you do?”

“We defeated Voldemort. We defeated his Death Eaters. I’ve been head of the Auror Office for three years. I know how to deal with the bad guys.”

“Our knight in shining armour,” Luna mused.

“If that’s what it takes to get me back to Ginny and my kids, yeah.”

Padma shrugged. “I’m game,” she said. “What have we got to lose?”

“Neville and Hermione,” Anthony said sharply.

“Let’s assume they ended up where - where we’re supposed to be,” Harry said. “Why not? We still have our memories, and the photographs, makes sense that... I don’t know, world or something, reality - makes sense it didn’t get erased, it’s still there somewhere. So if we can go from there to here - why can’t they do it, too?”

Someone started protesting, but Harry insisted. “Look. It’s Hermione and Neville. Two of my best friends. Ron’s _wife_ , damn it. Do you really think we’d be rushing to abandon them if there was the slightest chance they were in danger? If there’s a chance they’re in those cells and are about to be executed, this whole discussion is mute. You were the ones who said they weren’t there. If you’ve changed your mind, if you want to check a second time, fine - but I’m trusting your word on that.”

The room was silent. 

“I know I searched the cells properly,” Padma said at last. “They’re not in the Ministry.”

“They could be in Azkaban,” Parvati said quietly.

“No chance they’re in one of those camps you told us about?” Ron frowned.

Parvati shook her head and exchanged a look with Padma. 

“Malfoy closed down the camps when he took over.” Luna said in a whisper that brought chills down Harry’s back. His first instinct was to ask her to elaborate. His next thought was that perhaps he didn’t want to know. 

“Azkaban then,” Harry said now in a determined voice. “We can do that. We know Azkaban well enough. We’re going to need wands, though.”

As it turned out, the little band of rebels had plenty of spare wands. They took the wand of every wizard they overpowered, they said. They couldn’t know when they would find themselves in dire need of a wand, and there was no way of getting wands made especially for them. Ron and Harry went through what felt like dozens of wands, until they found two that were a reasonable match. Harry couldn’t help but miss his own wand - by now, the holly-and-phoenix wand felt as much a part of him as his arms or legs. But that had to take a lower priority. First, they had to break into Azkaban and then... 

... And then maybe they’ll find the time to figure out the rest.

To both Harry’s and Ron’s surprise, the little group had expected to embark immediately once Harry and Ron found a wand. “Don’t you people have any concept of strategy?” Harry asked in a exasperation. Anthony answered him that there was no point in strategy - not when they were so outnumbered. Harry begged to differ, and they spent the next three hours examining everything Harry could remember about Azkaban, its defences - and the likely use of Dementors, as he’d been informed by the rest that the Dementors were very much at large and in charge of Azkaban.

“Brilliant,” Ron sighed. “Just what we needed. More complications.”

“No, it’s good news,” Harry pointed out. “Less unknown magic to deal with. Most of their defences will probably be the Dementors.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, and they’re so easy to pass by.”

“Yeah, they are. Cast your Patronus and they’ll run away.”

No one answered - they just stared at him. Goldstein shook his head and mumbled something. “What?” Harry demanded.

“Harry,” Ron said quietly, “after everything we’ve heard... do you really think casting a Patronus is no big deal?”

Harry swore loudly.

 

**26th December, 2010, 6:07 a.m.**

What being imprisoned and tortured by Malfoy didn’t do, what the stories and faces of their friends didn’t tell, their excursion from the house and into the world outside made clear to Harry. The terrible danger they were in became so much more real when Harry found that he was risking his life just by setting foot into the world around him.

It happened perhaps five minutes after they left the house. They were slap bang in the middle of Muggle London. Far from the Ministry, far from other wizards. Harry had assumed that this part of their journey would be easy - after all, they were just another group of Muggles in a city of eight million people. No one was going to notice them.

The Muggle world looked just like Harry remembered it, in their own world. Her recognised the street immediately - it wasn’t far off from Grimmauld Place. He had walked it a thousand times. There was the book shop, there was the university campus - and hell, they even had that odd ‘To let - Apple Orchard’ advert on one of the houses. It was exactly the same in every way.

In almost every way. This Ministry had agents in the Muggle world, and they had no qualms about attacking them in the middle of the street, right in front of the Muggles. He started to say something to Ron, when all of a sudden a curse smashed right on top of him.

“Duck!” he shouted, more out of instinct than out of any clear thought process. Next to him, Dean and Luna had already started sending curse after curse at the Death Eaters. They, too, had no problem with magical duels in the middle of a Muggle street.

“What - are - you - doing?” he hissed at Luna.

“There’s no time to worry about secrecy, Harry!” she chided him. “It’s us or them!”

When the next curse almost got him, he cursed the wizard back. 

They got out of that encounter with the upper hand: none of them had suffered permanent damage, and all of the Death Eaters - or were they simply Ministry employees? - were on the ground, groaning. They were not completely unhurt - Luna had a bloody nose, Dean had acquired a nasty gash on his forehead, and Parvati winced every time she moved her arm. Harry looked at them for a moment, then returned his attention to the Death Eaters. He wanted to stick around, to question them, but Anthony grabbed him and pushed him forward. “We don’t have time for that. Come on,” he said roughly, and Harry followed.

They all rushed into a small back alley, away from prying eyes. Harry couldn’t understand - surely they needed to Apparate right away from there? If they didn’t do so soon, they would have the deal with the Muggle police as well as the Ministry, however the hell they managed to trace them in the first place.

He started saying so, but Padma shook her head. “You can’t Apparate from within London,” she said. 

“What?”

“The Ministry. Things would have been so much easier if we could. Used to be just tracking, but these days, it’s completely impossible, not unless you have some of the Ministry’s special talismans.” She looked at him for a moment, then sighed. “Sorry - we’re used to it by now. We forgot you guys don’t know.”

“How are we supposed to get to Scotland then?!” he burst. What else had they forgotten to tell them? Maybe Azkaban was full of dragons, too?

“All we need to do is leave London, then we can start Apparating,” Dean said grimly.

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“Well, we were going to take the tube, but now the - ”

“But now the Muggle police will have been alerted about us, too,” Harry finished grimly. 

“Yeah.”

“We can’t walk all that distance!”

“Hey, Harry,” Ron said all of a sudden, “what if we go on a boat?”

“A boat?”

Ron was right, of course. The one good thing about their location - right at the centre of London - was how close to the Thames they were. If they could only get on board one of the many ships that crossed the river, they’d be able to get out of the London metropolitan area - and with it, outside of the area covered by the Ministry’s anti-Apparition jinx - and continue on their way. And it was very unlikely they’d run into the Muggle police, too. 

Getting on a boat, however, required moving around without being seen. After all, Harry pointed out, they couldn’t just jump on any passing vehicle. That way, they were almost guaranteed an encounter with the Muggle police.

“What if we _do_ run into the police, though?” Ron asked. “What difference does it make? It’s not like we can’t curse them and run for it.”

Dean shook his head. “We tried that once. We almost... well, we nearly didn’t make it. It’s not just Muggle weapons - Malfoy’s got people in the Muggle police, too.”

Harry swore again. “He’s got you boxed in from every direction,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. There was no trace of emotion in his voice. 

In the end, they came up with the most ridiculous plan. A few Disillusionment charms, some Muggle-repelling spells - which were, as Dean said anxiously, bound to be detected by the Ministry - and after forty five minutes’ walk to the Thames, they ended up jumping from one of the bridges and onto the first ship that passed under them.

“Look at the bright side,” Padma grumbled as she nursed her leg from a bad jump angle, “this is so mental, Malfoy would never believe we actually did that.” 

Dean’s frantic shaking of the head caught her attention just in time. One of the ship’s crew had passed by and stopped, undoubtedly confused about the source of the noise. Immediately, everyone stopped talking. The crewman didn’t relent, though, and walked closer and closer to them.

“ _Confundo_ ,” Ron muttered next to Harry. The crewman paused, looked around, then continued with his duties, far away from them.

“Time for some more Muggle repelling charms, I think,” Harry said. They set off to work. 

The ship moved with maddening slowness up the river. Harry had hoped they would get out of the dangerous area soon, so that they could Apparate and leave the smelly ship and its exposed, freezing deck behind, but the buildings went on and on, on both banks of the river. Long after they had finished casting their protective spells, they found themselves standing on the ship’s deck, looking at tiny human beings making their way in the slowly-awakening city.

“Look,” Luna whispered. Harry thought she had pointed, too, but it was hard to tell, with her finger transparent under the influence of the Disillusionment charm. Still, he looked. 

He didn’t understand, at first, what he was looking at, until he saw them. A group of people, not in suits or other Muggle clothing, but in wizards’ robes. They were walking steadily by the river bank, undisturbed by the Muggles, who did not seem to realise they were there. Their wands were in front of them, and they were casting spells at the ships nearby.

“You think they know?” Ron asked, and his voice started Harry, who hadn’t realised he had joined them.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“We could check,” Ron suggested, but Harry shook his head. “No. Too dangerous. Maybe they know we’re somewhere here and all they need is for us to do magic so that they could locate us.”

“What if they do? What can they do to us?”

“They can Apparate, remember?” Luna said. 

By now, the rest had joined them. They were all looking at the group of wizards in dark robes, scanning the river with their wands.

“We wait,” Harry said in answer to the unasked question. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

They waited. The tall buildings became smaller and smaller, the wind more piercing, more violent, whistling now in their ears. The weak drizzle became rain, then everything became colder, and the rain was replaced with small, white flakes.

“Ha,” Harry said. “It’s snowing in London on Christmas.” No one else thought it was even remotely funny. 

After a while, even the small houses disappeared, replaced by roads and vegetation. “Do you think we can Apparate now?” Harry asked then, but Padma said no, they should wait a bit longer. If they Apparated in the wrong place, she said, the Death Eater will immediately know where they are. So they went on.

By now everyone was shaking with the cold. The coats they had put on when they left the house provided little protection against the strong winds, especially when they were all soaking wet. Most of them went down, settled somewhere inside the ship to get warm, but Harry preferred to stay on the deck and look for the first definite sign they were outside of London.

“What are you thinking about?” he heard a voice next to him, and could feel, rather than see Luna under the Disillusionment charm.

“How do you know I’m thinking about something?” he said jokingly.

“I don’t think you’ll be standing here and insist on freezing if you weren’t thinking about something important,” she said.

“Yeah. I guess... I don’t understand. Even with all you’ve been through, you’re all so very alike the people I know.”

“That sounds pretty reasonable,” she pointed out.

“Then how did all this happen? How didn’t everyone keep on fighting? Voldemort’s end was so near.”

“I think it was because of you,” she said.

“Me? But I thought everyone thought I was dead.”

“Yes. We got used to following you, I think. Even now, look how fast everyone does what you’re telling them to do.”

“I’m just making suggestions,” Harry protested, but Luna ignored his protests.

“And then Voldemort said you were dead... we still fought, at first, but I guess we didn’t think we could win anymore. We fought because we were going to lose either way.”

“But Ron and Hermione knew! They knew how close we were to defeating him!”

“Yeah, but they were the one who needed to follow you most of all,” she said softly.

Harry didn’t answer. 

“That’s what happened even later, see? We found you, and all of a sudden we all thought we could defeat Voldemort after all, that there was still a chance.”

“There was - you defeated him.”

“Yeah,” she said, “we did. But then Malfoy took over. He planned it that way, you see. He told us how to destroy Voldemort, but he was already planning what to do after we stopped Voldemort for him. We didn’t realise that, of course, not at the time. We thought he was on our side. And Harry wasn’t the way we’d thought he’d be, either.” She seemed to consider that for a moment. “He isn’t like you. It didn’t feel like he could give us much hope.”

“What’s he like?” Harry asked out of an odd impulse. He had the feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

“He’s very quiet,” Luna answered.

“Unlike me,” he laughed, and she joined him.

“It’s like he’s forgotten what it’s like to be Harry.”

Harry didn’t answer. In front of them, he looked at the road and the trees - and the factories that had started popping up. He thought he recognised one of the grey buildings. “We’re out of London,” he said finally. “I’m sure. Get everyone, we’re going.”

  


**26th December, 2010, 10:17 a.m.**

Scotland, of course, proved even colder than London. Their final destination offered no respite - Azkaban was on an island in the middle of the North Sea. The only way to get there was through an old ferry, run by an equally old wizard.

The wizard looked at them all suspiciously. They had conjured up some fake credentials, to convince him to take them to the prison. They were with the Ministry, they claimed, going to interrogate prisoners.

“You look familiar,” he said after long minutes of staring at their documents.

“We’re with the Ministry,” Dean said. “Of course we look familiar.”

“No, not because of that,” the man narrowed his eyes. He didn’t linger long on Dean, though - no, it was Harry he had studied, time and again. “You look very familiar,” he said at last.

Harry laughed his most convincing laughter, and hoped his nervousness was well hidden underneath it. “I get that a lot,” he said. 

“You sure I don’t know you?” the man asked again. “What was your name again?”

“Stan Shunpike,” he repeated hastily the name he had put into the document.

The old man grumbled. Harry grabbed the base of the wand - if the man was going to start causing trouble, they would need to curse him fast, before he got the chance to alert anyone. But the man just kept on grumbling, then shrugged and told them to go on the ferry. Harry breathed in relief.

“Funny how he didn’t recognise you,” Ron said when they were on their way.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Harry said. “It reminded me of something Malfoy said when he interrogated me.”

“Oh?”

“He said I don’t look like myself, I don’t sound like myself...”

Ron raised an eyebrow. 

“Luna said something similar, about me - not me, I guess. The Harry they know here. Man, this is odd,” he paused for a moment. “Saying that. Anyway. She said it’s like he’s forgotten how to be me.”

“He is you. You are you.” Ron stopped for a moment. “This is confusing.”

“You’re telling me...”

“You or you?” Ron asked. Harry stared at him in confusion for a moment, then they both laughed. “Mental, this place,” Ron shook his head. 

“Yeah, but maybe we can use it in our favour,” Harry said quietly. In front of them, Azkaban loomed, bringing with it the chill of hundreds of Dementors. 

“We’re going to need every little bit of help we can get,” Ron answered.

The ferry slowly approached the island, until it docked on the small pier. They disembarked in silence. The ferryman didn’t say a word - as far as he was concerned, if they were Ministry officials, they already knew where to go. He eyed them suspiciously, and Harry silently started walking through the prison’s gates, grateful for the fact that, as head Auror, he had been down that road path times before and knew his way around. The ferryman would be given no reason to sound the alarm.

They didn’t go to the cells, of course. It was impossible to gain access to them without the warden’s knowledge. Oh, the cells themselves were guarded by Dementors, of course - but no one, not even this travesty of a Ministry, was foolish enough to let them run the place completely. If they did, there would have been no way of alerting the Ministry if something went wrong.

That was Fudge’s mistake, all those years ago, Harry knew. No one was there to stop the Death Eaters from escaping. From the information the rest had given them, this was not the case under Voldemort, and neither was it the case under Malfoy. 

There was one free human on the island - a warden, shut down in his room with the permanent presence of a Patronus, doing his best to ignore his surroundings. He was replaced every two weeks, the ferryman said on their way there, to make sure he didn’t lose his mind. “I say he’s gotta be already crazy to agree to be there in the first place,” the old wizard laughed unpleasantly. 

And he had something else with him, too. A way to call the Ministry to his aid, if anything should go wrong. 

Before they started searching for Neville and Hermione, they had to stop him from using - whatever it was that he had. 

They walked further and further into the prison. The walls not only loomed now, but seemed to block out the sky, as well. And yet Harry was shivering with the cold. It felt much colder than it did on the ferry.

This cold, unpleasant world... What if they didn’t find out how to go back to their regular lives? he thought. What if from now on, this was his life? To the others - and especially to Ron - he pretended as if that wasn’t even an option, but he knew better. It was the kind of puzzle that only Hermione could solve, but she wasn’t with them. For all they knew, Padma didn’t find her because Malfoy had already executed her. And he would be stuck here, in this life, life without Ginny, without James and Al and Lily, without Hermione and the Weasleys and...

“Harry,” a hoarse whisper was heard behind him. He turned around. It was Ron. The rest were frozen in place, staring ahead, breathing hard. “They can’t go on, not like that,” Ron said.

The Dementors! Harry shivered again, and now he knew to recognise it for what it was - the Dementors, changing their perception, influencing their minds, sucking away every happy thought. He should have realised it before. 

“We can’t give up now,” he said stubbornly.

“They can’t go on,” Ron repeated. 

He was right - of course he was right. There was no question about it. In this nightmare world they were living in, none of them would be able to withstand the Dementors. “Unbelievable,” Harry couldn’t stop himself from saying, “a room full of people and I’m the one best suited to deal with Dementors.”

Time for difficult decisions... “I’ll go.” So much for strategy, he thought with a sigh. Maybe Dean had a point.

“You’re sure?” Ron sounded slightly concerned.

“Yeah. All we need to do is take out the guard, right? The Dementors we can deal with later. It’s the human guard that’s the problem.”

Ron still looked at him with doubt. “You think you could handle that?”

Hundreds of Dementors? Probably not. “Sure.”

“Give us a signal as soon as you’ve taken out the guard, we’ll come in,” he said.

“Sure.”

“And Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Good luck.”

Harry smiled. “Cheers.”

He walked into the old stone building alone. Here, the influence of the Dementors was much stronger, and the little comfort he had drawn from the presence of his friends was lost. The Dementors’ hoods turned after him, in a mockery of curious eyes. His hand twitched at his wand. He wanted nothing more than to cast a Patronus, right there and then. In his mind, familiar voices were starting to come up, voices from his childhood, the voice of Lord Voldemort. 

He couldn’t - not yet - 

A Dementor was getting closer and closer to him, and with the Dementor, so did the voice of Lord Voldemort. _Harry Potter... the boy who lived..._ Harry shook his head. He tried to concentrate on Ginny, on his family, but he couldn’t remember their face. Don’t let it get to you, he insisted to himself, but it didn’t do any good. _Bow, Harry. Bow to death..._

The Dementor passed him by. He wasn’t stopped from continuing up the stairs, wasn’t stopped from getting away from the Dementors. There was still a chill in his heart as he climbed up. He had to force his legs to go up the next step, and the next, and the one after that. But the voice of Lord Voldemort was starting to subside. One more step, he can do it, one more step, that’s it, and a little bit higher, a little bit higher...

He burst into the warden’s room and immediately searched for a chair to collapse on.

“Blimey!” a voice greeted him. “You went all that way through the Dementors? You’re out of your mind, mate!”

Harry was shaking so hard, he couldn’t talk, couldn’t answer. 

“Here, I’ll make you a cuppa. Good strong tea, with lots of sugar, yeah? That’ll make you feel better. Blimey, you must be out of your mind.”

There was something incredibly familiar about that voice. Harry tried to shake off the Dementors’ influence, to be able to think properly - to figure out why he had the impression he knew who this man was. Before he managed to, however, the man shoved a cup of tea into his hand.

His heart rate was slowly going back to normal, his vision less blurry, and he could finally look around. It was a circular room, much like he had often seen in lighthouses. There was a Patronus, travelling around the room, making sure to keep the Dementors away. And here inside the room, the prison did not feel as cold anymore. It felt positively warm, after the ferry trip and the walk through the Dementors. 

“There, that’s better, innit?” said the man who had given him the tea. Harry drank thankfully from the cup, and was immediately filled with the warmth of the tea and the sweetness of the sugar. Normally, it would have been too much sugar for him - but now, it felt just right. He wished the man would have had some chocolate.

The man - now that he was regaining his cool, he could try to identify him. 

“Hey, I know you, don’t I?” the man chatted happily. He was out of sight, standing in a small makeshift kitchen, and making a cup of tea of his own.

“I don’t think so,” Harry said carefully. “I got this face, though, people always confuse me for someone else.”

“I say,” the man chuckled. “Could have sworn I’ve met you before. What’s your name?”

“Stan,” he repeated mindlessly the name on the fake certificate.

“That’s funny,” his entertainer said, “that’s my name too. What did you say your surname was?”

Harry froze. Now he knew where he knew the man from. It was Stan Shunpike. 

“What did you say, Stan?” Stan Shunpike called again from the kitchen. And then he walked out and looked at Harry.

The smile was erased from his face. “Hold on, I know you. You’re not Stan, you’re Ha - ”

“ _Imperio_ ,” Harry cast the first spell that came to his mind. Stan stopped talking, and instead stood in his place, a stupid grin on his face.

Right. Harry sent the signal - red sparks - through the window of the circular room. Down below, he could hear Ron bellowing, _Expecto Patronum!_. Some other voice could be heard with Ron’s. The Dementors started moving, flocking to the entrance. They had realised something was wrong. Harry looked around - there should be something there, something that could be used by Stan to alert the Ministry... but the room was a mess. Dirty cups of coffee and tea, books everywhere, a wet towel... he could search for it for days and still come up empty-handed. 

Outside, his friends sounded as if they were in trouble.

“Stan!” he turned to the warden, still under his Imperius curse. “How do you contact the Ministry in case of emergency?”

“That stone,” Stan said with the stupid grin on his face. Harry turned around, and found it - it was a small, innocent-looking pebble. He hadn’t even noticed it until now.

“What does it do? Just helps you contact the Ministry? Surely there are other ways of doing that?”

“Not just contact the Ministry,” Stan giggled. “You can’t Apparate here, can you? But if you turn on the stone, you can. So the Ministry can send reinforcements right away. You turn this on, then a different stone on their end lights up. And they know they can come. If there’s an - an - uprising.”

“Right. Thank you.” he said and picked up the stone. Stan giggled.

He rushed downstairs - and just in time, too. There was no sign of any of his friends’ Patronuses. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he shouted, and thought of Ginny. The familiar stag Patronus came out of his wand, driving away the Dementors. A second later, he heard another call, and saw Ron’s dog Patronus. Not much later, and there was Luna’s hare - and an unfamiliar bird one. Good, Harry thought, as he watched the silvery creatures clearing their paths. They’re getting over it. 

The Dementors dispersed; the road was clear. Harry and the others started running from cell to cell, from tower to tower, opening the cells, looking for Hermione and Neville. They didn’t find them - Hermione and Neville simply weren’t there. They did find, however, two dozen other wizards and witches, all staring at them in shock, some in dismay, most looking as if they were sure they were dreaming.

“They’re not here,” Anthony repeated the obvious, angry, once they had all met again in the yard.

“Maybe they’re - ” Dean started, but Harry cut across him.

“No,” he said. “They weren’t in the Ministry. They’re not here. I think the best bet is that they’re gone - the same way we’re here. Who knows, maybe they’re in the normal world. We can’t stay here. We need to go. The Ministry is going to be here soon.”

“You can’t leave us!” one of the wizards called - and Harry thought he knew him, thought he reminded him of Tom, the old barman from the Leaky Cauldron.

“We’re not going to,” he promised. 

“Harry, we came here to find Neville and Hermione! We’re going to go out of here with - with what, exactly?” 

Harry looked at the many people around him - no wands, wearing rags, and gaping at him, unable to believe that it was real, that the Dementors were gone, that they were free. Then, he looked at Anthony again. 

“With an army,” he replied.

 

**26th December, 2010, 12:00 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

The vault was full of treasure. Mountains of gold coins. An abundance of jewels and trinkets. Enough goblets to open up a shop or two. Ron stood at the entrance, next to Sirius. Harry immediately walked inside and started looking at the various goblets.

Hermione wasn’t with them. She had said there was no time to waste - she would go and look for the ring, while they went with Sirius to fetch the cup. He had agreed, but reluctantly - staying with his family was one thing, as they were almost the same as he remembered. Hanging around with Sirius, however, was something completely different. It wasn’t Sirius, not really. Every once in a while, he’d say something, or do something, and Ron would know all of a sudden that it truly was the man he remembered, but the rest of the time... the rest of the time, it was someone else, the Sirius they could have known, had he not spent so much of his life in Azkaban. 

Better not think about it, Ron thought and shifted uncomfortably. His eye spied Harry, walking around the vault and oblivious to the two of them, and Ron turned his gaze back to Sirius.

“And all of this was passed on to you?” he asked incredulously as he surveyed the vault’s contents in amazement.

“It’s yourself you should be thanking,” Sirius said with a smile, and then his face darkened. “When you died... Who would have thought your death had meaning, after all?”

Ron shook his head. That conversation was too weird. Still, he couldn’t help but ask, “What happened?” 

“The Death Eaters tried to gain access to the Ministry. To the Department of Mysteries.”

“To get the prophecy?”

“Prophecy?” Sirius looked at him, confused. “Of course not. What would they want with a prophecy? No, it was the Time Turners they wanted. We never quite learned why - Dumbledore guessed that Voldemort was, perhaps, trying to get supporters from the past, or, perhaps, get rid of Dumbledore himself.”

“Kill him when he was a baby, that sort of thing?” Ron asked quietly.

“That sort of thing, yes. Anyway, we got there just in time to stop then. You - this is so weird,” he said, then started again. “You were fighting Bellatrix, and you - well, you hit each other at the same time. You both died.”

“But how did you end up with Bellatrix’s vault? Wouldn’t it have gone to her sisters?”

At this, and to Ron’s obvious surprise, Sirius’s smile grew wider. “I don’t know if you know my cousin, Andromeda -”

“Oh, of course, Tonks’s mother,” he said, and Sirius nodded.

“Exactly. She married Ted Tonks, and he is Muggle-born. Her father... well, let’s just say that in the Black family in those days, marrying a Muggle-born was the worst crime imaginable. I think my aunt and uncle would have preferred her to marry a werewolf before she married a Muggle-born,” he laughed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Harry said carefully. Ron could see Sirius was startled to hear his voice - he must have not realised Harry was listening to their conversation.

“Anyway,” Sirius continued, “after that happened, her father decided he didn’t want to risk his money getting into the hands of anyone who wasn’t a pure-blood. He had already put a spell on the vault so the money couldn’t go into a Muggle-born’s hands, but he was afraid the spell would break with his death. Or that if anything happened to Bellatrix or Narcissa, the money would end up with Andromeda, or that Andromeda’s children would be eligible to the inheritance.”

“Paranoid git,” Ron muttered.

“Exactly,” Sirius nodded. “But we can’t really complain now, can we? He added a spell that prevented the sisters from inheriting each other. Bella and Cissy didn’t mind - they both assumed they would have children anyway. But Bellatrix never had any children. And then, with all the protective spells on the money, it ended up going to the closest family relative who was not married to a non pure-blood.” Sirius chuckled. “What dear old Cygnus didn’t think about was that I might not be married at all. Or that there are ways to oppose my family’s obsession with purity of blood other than marrying Muggle-borns. So, I ended up with the money.” He surveyed the vault for a moment. “I never even touched it until now. Never even thought about it. Good thing I haven’t, too -” he added quickly. “I’d have probably sold the whole lot of it.”

“And then we wouldn’t be able to find - this!” Harry showed up with a small goblet, and handed it to Sirius.

Sirius looked at it carefully, and Ron checked it with him. Harry was right - he could see it now. There was a small badger on the golden cup. Helga Hufflepuff’s.

“Incredible,” Sirius muttered, and put it in his pocket. “Out of curiosity, how did you guys get it? Bellatrix, I take it, was still alive?”

“And not very keen on letting us rob her,” Ron agreed. “We had to do it without her consent.”

Sirius stared at him for a moment, speechless. “You broke into Gringotts?” he asked finally. “And lived to tell the tale?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron answered and laughed. Harry said nothing. 

“Just the two of you? You and Hermione?” Sirius said and whistled in appreciation.

“The _three_ of us,” Ron corrected him. “Harry was with us.”

“Right,” Sirius looked at Harry uncomfortably for a moment. “How did you get out?” he asked eventually.

“On a dragon...” Ron started telling the tale, as they left the bank and started walking down Diagon Alley. Sirius laughed and laughed.

Once outside the bank, though, Ron’s storytelling had become a lot less heartfelt. He couldn’t help it - seeing Diagon Alley so bright, so full of people - and mostly, seeing it out in the open, as himself and not under the Invisibility Cloak or the guise of Polyjuice Potion... he missed all that. He didn’t have the chance to walk so freely in the street and between other wizards for years. Since Voldemort took over, actually, he thought.

“You know,” he told Sirius, “the last time I walked like this in Diagon Alley must have been before our sixth year at Hogwarts. Thirteen years, man. Thirteen years. Looks almost the same, though.” He looked around. “Fred and George had a joke shop. I don’t see it here, though.”

“No,” Sirius said. “They’re working for Zonko’s. Don’t have the money for a joke shop of their own.”

“Yeah, they got the money from - ” He paused before starting the explanation. It would be too hard to explain. Another one of the ways in which his life had been affected by Harry. “I wonder what there is there instead of it - let’s go look!”

Sirius wasn’t very happy with the suggestion. “We’re supposed to go back to Hogwarts,” he said reluctantly.

“Oh, c’mon - we’ll just get bored there. Hermione can’t have come back already, she’s facing much more complicated magic than what we had.”

“Sure,” Sirius grumbled, and Ron led the way to the premises on 93 Diagon Alley. It wasn’t Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, of course. Sirius had just said it wouldn’t be. Still, Ron couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Everything was so perfect, surely his brothers being financial wizards couldn’t have been that much of a stretch?

But no, he figured, you can’t have everything. His brothers’ financial independence was a small price to pay for their lives and freedom. Maybe that was what the shop on 93 Diagon Alley was - a symbol for the price he was willing to pay.

Even if, instead of his brothers’ shop, the premises around him proved to be a second shop for Borgin and Burke’s. 

“Not the best shop in town,” Sirius commented dryly. 

“Could have been worse,” Ron said. “Could have been - ” a shop where Death Eaters were hiding, right there in broad daylight. 

He wasn’t quite sure what drew his attention to the second floor windows. Or how he had made the split-second decision that they must be Death Eaters. Maybe he was already used to seeing Death Eaters wherever he went... whatever it was, as soon as he saw the movement, he knew they were in imminent danger. The Death Eaters spotted him and Sirius at the same time as he saw them.

“Down!” he shouted and ducked, finding cover behind a wall. Sirius did the same. 

Where was Harry? Ron tried looking around for him, but was almost hit by a curse as soon as he brought his head up. He sent a curse up the window, in the Death Eaters’ direction. Sirius did the same.

“Harry!” he called. 

“Eurgh - here!” He heard the call from the other side of the street. A red jet of sparks came from it after another second - Harry was trying to get the Death Eaters, too. “Can’t get to them!”

“Neither can I!” 

“And now they can hear the two of you,” Sirius grumbled and sent his own curse. He missed spectacularly. A green jet of light almost his him in response.

“Ron!” He heard Harry shouting from his hiding place, next to the walls of the small alley. “Can you distract them?”

“How?”

“I don’t know - anything!”

Ron shook his head - but he knew Harry must have an idea. Distraction, distraction... what could he possibly do to draw their attention? If only he had one of Fred and George’s old fireworks, he thought, and then realised - that was it. He had no fireworks, of course, but he knew the magic to recreate the effect.

He aimed his wand at the second floor’s general direction and said the incantation - and immediately, red and white sparks ignited in the small alley.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Sirius demanded next to him. Ron shrugged. “Providing a distraction,” he said with a grin.

Sirius laughed and sent his own explosion. It took only a few seconds before half a dozen spells shattered around them. “Hope that’s enough of a distraction,” Sirius said grimly. Ron sent out another explosion.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Harry now. He was sneaking out of his hiding place, at the corner of the building, and slowly advancing towards number 93. 

He was out of sight as soon as Ron returned to the safety, back to the cover of the wall. Another explosion and he got another glimpse of Harry - who was already climbing up the wall. Now Ron understood.

He wasn’t the only one to notice him. Looking at the building again, Ron could see a Death Eater, leaning out the window, aiming his wand at the climbing man. Without a second though, Ron aimed his own wand at the man and called out “ _Avada Kedavra_!” The Death Eater fell without a sound.

“What the hell are you doing?” Sirius screamed. Around them, spells were showered in every direction.

“Keep them going!” Ron warned him, and aimed his wand again, sending another explosion towards the shop. “It’s okay, we’ve done this dozens of times. He’s going to - ” BOOM! - “sneak up on them, stop them in some way.” He ducked at the very last second, as a curse cracked the wall exactly where his head had been a moment before. “Probably blow the whole thing up.”

A huge explosion above them served as confirmation of what he had just said. They allowed themselves to peer outside the cover of the wall. 

Where before a two-storey shop stood, there was now only rubble. Harry had blown up the upper floor, but his magic had caused the entire infrastructure of the shop to collapse. Ron wasn’t surprised - it was not the first time this had happened when they used that particular technique. But Sirius was white and shocked.

“He blew the whole thing up,” Sirius said weakly. 

“Best way to make sure they don’t come after us again,” Ron pointed out.

“But - it’s a shop! In the middle of Diagon Alley! He blew it all up!”

Ron couldn’t understand what he was so upset about. “It’s just Death Eaters, mate,” he said. “Just Borgin and Burke’s. No big deal.”

Sirius stared at him for a moment longer, his expression deeply uncomfortable. Then he shook his head. “You wouldn’t have guessed it, looking at your friend, that he could cause so much damage,” he said. “I mean, with what he did to Snape’s office, he doesn’t look... I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“Harry’s got magic like the rest of us,” Ron pointed out. It was odd, that he had to explain this to Sirius.

“He doesn’t look like he could concentrate enough of it to do so much damage, though,” Sirius said again.

“It’s the adrenaline, I reckon,” said another voice - Harry. He was limping, Ron could see, and bleeding from his arm. He must have fell from the blast - a risk they were all aware of, of course, and still, Ron was worried to see his wounds. 

“The adrenaline?” Sirius looked at him as if he said something completely ridiculous.

Harry just shrugged. “Dunno. Let’s get out of here before the Ministry shows up, alright?”


	4. Perpetual Motion

**26th December, 2010, 1:45 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

“Just imagine,” Remus said with a hungry look on his face, picking up the cup. “Voldemort gone. We could live... normal life again.”

“That’d be something, wouldn’t it,” Ron said. “I don’t think I remember what normal life looks like anymore.” He looked over his shoulder at Hermione. 

As it happened, Hermione ended up coming back to Hogwarts before they did. Harry’s injury, which Ron suspected had been worse than he admitted, slowed them down - not to mention that once the emergency had ended, Harry found it impossible to concentrate enough to Apparate. Even Sirius and Ron’s warnings on the impending arrival of the Ministry didn’t do the job. 

Strange as it felt, Ron found himself hoping Harry’s wound really turned out to be serious. It was either that, he knew, or Harry was getting worse. Usually he managed to keep it together as long as there was still danger out there. Usually, until they were completely safe and hidden, Harry had managed to stay alert and keep up with them. If that was no longer the case... he shook his head.

They ended up taking Harry in side-along Apparition to the gates of Hogwarts - and then Ron had to rely on Sirius to bring Madam Pomfrey, who helped Harry get directly to the hospital wing.

“There’s no point in you waiting here,” she snapped at him, and so he ended up going to Dumbledore’s office, to bring him the cup, another Horcrux found. Hermione was already there and chatting happily with Remus.

“What took you so long?” she asked him. She, like him, had expected his group to come back much earlier.

“Ran into Death Eaters in Diagon Alley,” he gave the short version of events.

“Is Harry...”

“He got a little burnt up. Madam Pomfrey is taking care of him.” He could see it in her eyes, how worried she was. He himself had so much to discuss with her - but not there, not in front of Sirius and Remus, in front of James Potter and Lily Po - Lily _Evans-Snape_ , and especially not in front of Severus Snape.

Hermione understood, of course. Instead of questioning him further, she went to talk to Snape and his wife. Ron shook his head. Mental. And then Remus started with his own dreams. Normal life... right, Ron thought. I’ll believe it when I see it. And maybe not even then.

“Hi,” someone else joined them - James Potter. Brilliant. “How are you, Ron?” he asked in a friendly voice.

Ron remembered what his mother had said at some point, after James Potter went home the night before - apparently, they had known each other quite well. Apparently, James Potter was his godfather. Of all the odd things... “Fine,” he mumbled.

The door opened. Harry walked into the room. His left arm was all bandaged. Definitely worse than he realised, Ron thought, and felt slightly ashamed of the relief that washed over him. Next to him, he could hear James Potter shuffling uncomfortably, and threw a look at the man. Once again, he was struck how similar the two of them looked. Lily, he thought, could deny her connection to Harry, pretend there was nothing between her and him. For James, that wasn’t an option - not when Harry was a walking proof, with his face almost identical to James Potter’s and his hair sticking up in all direction, just like Potter’s. Hell, they were even almost the same height.

Harry didn’t notice James at first. He walked all the way to Ron, and only once he got there did he look up and see James - and was then taken aback, too.

Ron looked from Harry, to James, to Harry again. “Listen, you two probably want to talk, I should leave you two - ”

“No!” James said - and to his surprise, Harry said the exact same thing, at the exact same time. Even their voices sounded the same. Ron shook his head and chuckled. James joined him in laughter, and even Harry cracked a smile.

“Fine, fine, I’ll stay.”

“Ron...” James started again. “Listen, we didn’t have much time to talk yesterday. I never had the chance to apologise about the way I treated you back at Godric’s Hollow - I thought you were...”

“S’alright,” Ron shrugged it off. “I know, it’s all kinda odd. I know you all thought I was dead, and Sirius told me what had happened, so don’t worry about it.”

James Potter smiled in relief. “It’s so weird,” he confessed. “Good - but weird.”

“‘Mental’ is what you mean,” Harry said. “That’s how this whole place feels like. I guess you guys think we’re just as mental.” He was still grinning when he said that.

Ron could practically feel James’s relief - and no wonder, he thought. That must have been the first time he had ever seen Harry smile. Just to keep everything lighthearted, he said, “Yeah, but we’re right and they’re wrong.” All three of them laughed in response.

All of a sudden Harry stopped laughing, and instead, fixed on James. “So you and my mu - Lily,” he corrected himself, “you never got together?”

“Nah,” James said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was always good looking, but she was dating Severus.”

“What about you and Sirius?”

“Black?” James looked something between confused and worried. “No, I’ve never dated him either.”

Ron bit back his laughter. Harry stopped in confusion. “Erm, no, I meant... weren’t you friends at Hogwarts?” he said finally.

“No,” James said carefully, slowly. “Why would...? He was in Slytherin, I was in Gryffindor... usually kids from these two houses don’t get along. I mean, I don’t know, maybe in your weird minds things happened differently, but generally, Gryffindors and Slytherins stay the hell away from each other.”

Ron and Harry looked at one other for a moment. Sirius? Ron mouthed the word ‘Slytherin’ at the same time Harry did. “Er,” he said now, “is Remus a Slytherin too?”

“Oh,” James paused for a moment. “I never thought about it like that. No, he’s a Gryffindor. Lily, too.”

“So I take it some Gryffindors did hang out with Slytherins,” Ron said. Harry just stared at the trio in the corner - Snape, Lily, and Hermione, all chatting together. Hermione’s entire body language was lighthearted and comfortable. Lily seemed comfortable too, engaged in an animated discussion with Hermione. Even Snape looked at ease. 

“I guess,” James admitted. “Look, me and Black, we just never liked each other too much. And me and Snape, too. Snape and Black and Lupin had their little group, I had my friends. Why does it matter?”

“He was - is - was my godfather,” Harry said.

James was now the one to be taken aback. Ron could see the idea of asking Sirius to be the godfather of his son was not only alien to him - it was unthinkable. “Hey,” he told Harry, “maybe we should keep this stuff for ourselves. Better not confuse them.”

“Yeah,” James said, staring at Harry. “Don’t get me wrong, er, Harry, I’m sure he’s important to you and everything, just, it’s strange enough having you here without hearing you saying I’m supposed to be Black’s best friend or something.”

“Sure,” Harry said, the disappointment clear in his voice. “Excuse me.”

Ron followed him with his eyes across the room. Harry wandered aimlessly for a while. Ron thought he might start talking to Remus, or to Sirius, but whenever he got close to either one of them, he seemed to have changed his mind, and went elsewhere. He didn’t even go near Snape and Lily. Eventually, he walked to Dumbledore’s desk, and started looking at the Horcruxes. Ron’s heart fell when he saw him sending a hand to the ring, putting it back, picking it up again. What was it Remus said? ‘Normal life’... What a joke. “Excuse me,” he said, and went to Harry.

“I trust Hermione broke the curses on the ring?” he asked him, his voice as casual as he could make it.

“Yeah,” Harry said absently.

“You know that ring’s no good,” he tried again.

“Yeah,” Harry sounded still unconvinced.

“Harry, I’ve been thinking.”

“What about?”

Picking up the ring, putting it down, picking it up again... “Could you stop messing around with this thing?” Ron snapped. Harry put down the ring. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“Anyway, I’ve been thinking. Once we get rid of Voldemort - ”

“- again - ”

“Yeah, exactly, once we get rid of Voldemort again... we could try to live a normal life at last. We were going to get married, me and Hermione you remember? And I know Ginny doesn’t know you, but I could introduce you, she’s really the same person, you just need to talk to her - ”

“What about Malfoy?”

Ron blinked. “Malfoy? What about him?”

“When we defeated Voldemort.” Harry was once again playing with the ring, not looking at Ron. 

“Would you - what the hell are you talking about? Stop messing with that thing and start talking sense, will you?”

“Malfoy, Ron, Malfoy!” Harry talked to Ron as if he was the one who made no sense at all. “Once we defeated Voldemort, Malfoy took over!”

“This isn’t - Dumbledore’s here, Harry, for Merlin’s sake, Dumbledore and Sirius and Remus and your parents, they’re all here, Voldemort hasn’t even taken over the Ministry. This isn’t going to happen, we’re going to defeat him, it’s going to be over!”

Harry looked at him, and Ron could see that he might as well have been talking a different language. “Malfoy took over,” Harry repeated. 

Ron swore loudly. Several heads turned in his direction. “Look, Harry, just... stay here, alright? And when Dumbledore’s back, don’t let him see that ring!” he snapped, and went to talk to Hermione.

She was still sitting with Snape and Lily. An outsider would have probably assumed they were chatting happily, or just gossiping, but Ron knew Hermione better than that. Indeed, he could see a small notebook in her hand, and she was writing, in red and black ink, page after page.

“Hi,” he smiled at Snape and Lily, feeling thoroughly uncomfortable. His discomfort intensified when he was not greeted by any sarcastic or nasty reply from Snape. “We need to talk,” he told Hermione while doing his best to ignore Snape altogether.

“Now?” she raised an eyebrow. “I’m in the middle of - ”

“Now.”

“I’ll be right back,” she told Snape and Lily. Lily smiled at her, and Snape said they’ll be waiting.

“That’s just creepy as hell,” Ron whispered as soon as they were far enough away from Snape.

“What is?”

“Snape! He’s almost... nice.”

She tutted in impatience. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Snape being _nice_?”

“No. Harry.”

She sighed. “What about him this time?”

“He’s _really_ losing it, Hermione. Not just the magic. We were talking about what we’d do after we defeated Voldemort, and all he could talk about was _Malfoy_. He’s convinced Malfoy is going to show up out of the blue, just ‘cause we remember it happened. He doesn’t understand things are different now!”

Hermione looked at him without saying a word. She looked far away, reluctant, and so very unhappy. He didn’t like that look, didn’t like it at all. It was like he was the delusional one. “What?” he asked.

“I’m not sure he’s wrong.”

“What?” he stared at her in disbelief. “Malfoy doesn’t have any basis for taking over here! Voldemort didn’t take over the Ministry! If he goes down, life goes back to normal! Dumbledore’s here, c’mon, he wouldn’t dare do anything - and, I mean, Malfoy planned it for months, for years, even, he wouldn’t get the chance!”

“Yes, but Ron...” she bit her lip, then, reluctantly, completed the sentence. “You’re assuming our memories are the problem.”

“What d’you mean, ‘course they’re the problem, look at the world around you - ”

“And what about everyone else’s memories?” she asked. “Remembering seeing the both of us die? Harry never being born? No, that doesn’t make any sense.” She looked at Harry. “It’s like there’s two worlds, you know? Two worlds that started completely the same, and then - and then something happened. The smallest of events, the most insignificant detail. And all of a sudden, you’ve got two different worlds. One in which James got married to Lily, and they had a son, and Voldemort went after him - and one where he was never born.”

“What are you talking about?” Ron asked, exasperated. 

“We don’t belong here, Ron,” she said. “All these inconsistencies, all these little mistakes, all these memories - it can’t be just some weird magic gone wrong. And no one’s ever heard of anything like that, of any magic, not even Dumbledore, Ron, even he doesn’t understand it! This place, it’s a completely different place to the one we know. We don’t belong here.”

“So what?”

“So... once we get Neville back... we need to go back.”

He looked at her aghast. Surely, she was joking?

“Let’s say you’re right. For a moment. And let’s say you’re also right and we can go back, whatever the hell that means - Hermione, this world, it’s perfect! No one will be chasing us here! Voldemort will be dead, Malfoy certainly isn’t going to be a problem, we’ll finally be free! We could get married - Hermione, my family’s here, they’re _alive_ \- and Harry, I mean, he’s completely messed up and you know that, he could get the help he needs here, go to St Mungo’s for a bit or something! Your parents would love to have you here, their daughter’s dead, no? And Neville’s grandmother - what about Mrs Longbottom? What about Neville, you know how he misses his gran! What on earth are you talking about, this place is perfect, why would we ever want to leave?” he finished, completely disgusted.

He didn’t realise he was raising his voice, he was almost shouting at her. Now that he had finished talking, he could see the tears, appearing in her eyes.

“No, Hermione,” he said, much more softly than before, “I didn’t mean...”

“Don’t you think I want to stay here, too?” she whispered.

“Then why can’t we?” he almost begged. She just shook her head, unable to speak. 

“What about Luna?” he heard a new voice - Harry’s. 

“Luna?” he asked, his eyes still planted firmly on Hermione.

“Luna. And Dean, and Anthony, and Padma, and Parvati,” Harry said softly. “We can’t abandon them, can we?”

“Maybe... we can bring them here, maybe, if we understand what happened... make sure...”

“It’s like looking into the Mirror of Erised, this place,” Harry said, almost wistfully. “Your heart’s biggest desire. I think... Dumbledore told me that once, didn’t he. That you can’t just go on looking at it forever. It ruins you. You forget to live.”

Finally Ron removed his eyes from Hermione, looked at Harry instead. “You call what we do living?” he asked bitterly. “You don’t even know what it’s like, living a normal life, do you.”

“Ahem,” someone coughed behind them. Dumbledore. To his surprise, Harry’s hand closed around the ring he was still holding and as if the conversation between them hadn’t just happened, he gave Ron a reassuring look. Ron had told him not to let Dumbledore see the ring - and he wasn’t going to. Ron wasn’t sure whether his urge to laugh was stronger than his urge to shout.

Dumbledore, meanwhile, studied the cup with interest. “Fascinating,” he mumbled to himself. Ron couldn’t help but smile. “But there was supposed to be another - a ring, no?” Dumbledore asked.

“Hermione’s got it,” Harry lied promptly, his hand closing up even tighter on the ring. “Better let her keep it, really.”

Ron couldn’t help himself. He started laughing. 

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said. Ron just laughed harder.

“May someone, please, explain what is going on here?” Dumbledore said coldly. Ron couldn’t help but noticed that for first time since his interrogation at that first night, he was aiming his words at Harry.

Harry, however, didn’t back down. “It’s complicated, Headmaster,” he said, and Ron was surprised to hear that his voice was equally as cold.

“Then uncomplicate it, if you may.”

“You can’t have the ring,” Harry said simply. “It stays with us, until we destroy all the Horcruxes.” Now everyone was looking at Harry in shock, except for Dumbledore. He was looking him with something that felt more like fury. And yet, when he spoke, his voice was calm and level.

“I don’t think it is up to you, Mr Potter, to tell me what I can or cannot have,” he said.

“Harry,” Hermione started, but Harry ignored her. “In this case,” he said, “I think it is.”

“Professor Dumbledore, sir,” Hermione tried again, now appealing to Dumbledore, “don’t you think that if we keep the ring away from you, we have a good reason to do so?”

“To be honest, Ms Granger, I’m not sure this man can recognise what constitutes a _good reason_.”

Harry took a step closer to Dumbledore. His hand clutched his wand, visibly shaking. “Harry,” Hermione said again, at the same time as Ron jumped. “Harry, calm down,” he tried, too. Harry ignored them both. He now faced Dumbledore, their faces inches apart.

“It’s not just a ring,” he said clearly. “The ring has a stone set in it. A stone that used to belong to Voldemort’s ancestors. The Peverell family.”

All of a sudden, the spirit was gone from Albus Dumbledore. Each one of his many years could be seen for just a moment on the old Headmaster’s face. “The Peverells?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” Harry said, still coldly, still refusing to back down, even though now his voice shook, together with his hand. “You can’t have it.”

“I see,” Dumbledore said calmly. The surprise was all gone from his face now, and he looked just as measured and composed as he always had. Harry, on the other hand, was shaking violently. Whether with rage, grief, or frustration, Ron didn’t know. 

“Harry,” he said again. “Calm down.”

Harry didn’t calm down - but he did go and find himself a chair. From it, he kept on staring at Dumbledore, but quietly this time - at least for a while.

“Well,” Dumbledore was now looking at Hermione, who still looked uncomfortable and wrong-footed herself. “Looks like we only have two Horcruxes left. Shall you tell us how we’re going to find those?”

Hermione didn’t answer. Neither did Ron. It was Harry who opened his mouth first, again. “This, Headmaster,” he said, still just as angry as he was a moment ago, “is when things get really complicated.”

 

**26th December, 2010, 3:12 p.m.**

This late into December, there were no students at Hogwarts to walk on the snow, squash it or just move it around. There were no children constructing snow castles and snowmen or working out their complicated strategies for battles in the snow. There was also almost no one to notice when two adults started playing in the snow just like children.

Sirius was surprised at the fondness he felt as he looked outside the window and saw Harry and Ron each forming perfect, huge snowballs to throw at one other.

“Gotcha now!” Ron shouted in triumph, as a particularly large snowball crashed on Harry’s face.

“You think?” Harry shouted gleefully in reply, and before Ron managed to flee, a huge chunk of snow splattered on his head.

“They seem like they’re having fun,” he commented to Hermione, who was standing next to him, looking at the two with an odd, melancholic smile on her face. In one hand, she was holding a small notebook, full of scribblings. She had been talking to his friends ever since she got there, writing down everything they said in that little notebook of hers. In her other hand, she held an old, dirty piece of cloth in a bundle.

“Yeah,” she said now. “It’s been forever since we could just go out to the snow and mess about.”

“I’d have thought you’d want to join them,” he said gently.

“There’s more important things to take care of,” she said, and whatever longing that was in her voice before disappeared completely. Back to business. Sirius sighed. It was hard to tell her to lighten up, not when he remembered her story - not when he saw all three of them, all the time. Not when they had proven so helpful to them, and asked so little in return. And still, he would have liked her not to be all businesslike so much of the time. 

“Is that why you’re here?” he asked. “Taking care of more important things?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I need to talk to you.”

They weren’t in Albus’s office anymore. Hermione asked to see him in private, and had asked Lily to use her own office at Hogwarts. Sirius knew the office, of course - he had been there countless times. It was interesting, however, to see the way Hermione stared around her in trepidation.

“Everything alright?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she said, quite obviously distracted, then shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, “the last time I’ve seen this office, it belonged to Minerva McGonagall.”

“Oh,” he said. Now things were becoming clear. “Minerva died. When Ron... she also died in the Ministry.”

“Funny,” she said quietly. “Last I checked, the Minerva McGonagall I remember was still alive.”

“Really?” he asked, more in order to say something and not let the conversation slip into an awkward silence. 

“Yeah. She was imprisoned in Azkaban.” 

He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing. Hermione stared for a long time through the window, at her two friends playing like children outside. 

Eventually, he coughed. “Anyway, I’ve noticed you’ve been talking to Lily and Severus and Remus and Po- James Potter. I guess now it’s my turn?” he asked, trying to present the question as lightly as possible.

She turned from the window, and now fixed on him. “Yeah, Sirius. I’m sorry I kept you waiting for so long, it’s just that...” she paused and seemed to consider her next words for a moment. “The more I interviewed everyone else, the more I realised I needed to get to you last.”

“Me? What’s so important about me?” he asked, surprised.

“That’s just it, isn’t it? You wouldn’t think that just one small, seemingly unimportant event... but I guess this is the way the world is.”

“What are you talking about, Hermione?” he asked her.

“Look for yourself.” 

She opened her notebook and showed him the sketches and timelines she had reconstructed during her interviews with everyone else. Black ink was when events corresponded to her own memories of events, she said, the version she and Ron and Harry remembered; green ink was when they differed. 

Sev’s story seemed almost completely green. He could see, not only the stories of their skirmishes with Voldemort, but his memories of Neville Longbottom as a student, all marked down nicely; his marriage to Lily; and further down the page, school day stories, all those nonsensical things they had done, Sev and Remus and Lily and himself. And in each and every one of them, Sirius’s name was not only inked in green, but with a line under his name. Eventually, they got to Sev’s unhappy childhood, and everything turned black again - everything corresponded to what Hermione thought she had known. The first comment in green, Sirius could see, was his own name. Sirius in Slytherin, it said.

He went on to Remus. There was more black here; less green. Sirius flipped back to the notes about their childhood. Hermione didn’t seem to mind that Remus was a Gryffindor, or that he was a friend with Sirius; here it was Sev’s name that was inked green, over and over again, and here and there, some small comments about James Potter or - Peter Pettigrew? Who the hell was Peter Pettigrew? 

She did note down Remus’s friendship with Lily as odd, although Sirius couldn’t see why - they were both Gryffindors, and, after all, it was that friendship that had introduced them to Remus, because Lily and Sev had been friends long before Hogwarts. Finally, he could see the last comment, again, in green, before a sea of black. Sirius in Slytherin. 

He was almost scared to turn to Lily’s page. He remembered what Harry had told Dumbledore, that first night - the son of Lily Evans and James Potter. Lily’s page, like Sev’s, was almost all in green. Her marriage to Sev and their children, her activities after Voldemort’s first downfall, her school days - and when he got to the very last green comment, before the page turned unmistakably black, he knew what it would be before reading it. _Sirius in Slytherin_. 

“How did you end up in Slytherin, Sirius?” Hermione asked gently.

“All my family’s been in Slytherin, Hermione,” he said, slightly annoyed. “For centuries. As far back as anyone remembers. I think what you should ask yourself is how could I ever _not_ end up in Slytherin.”

“And yet... that’s the first thing. Everything before that matches. Things started to change from events as we remember them when eleven year old Sirius Black was sorted into Slytherin. What happened that night, Sirius?”

Sorted into Slytherin... suddenly he realised what she had in her other hand. It wasn’t an old cloth, it wasn’t a bundle. It was the Sorting Hat. Did she already know, he wondered, but he told her anyway.

“That’s the thing,” he said. “I was never sorted into Slytherin.”

She gave him a quizzical look, but said nothing. He went on.

“I caught Dragon Pox. Two weeks before term started. I must have been the most disappointed eleven year old kid in the world,” he laughed. “At eleven, of course, Dragon Pox isn’t deadly, not unless you’re sensitive. So it wasn’t a big deal, but I couldn’t go to Hogwarts until we were sure I’m not contagious anymore. So I missed the first two weeks of school.”

“And they just assumed you were a Slytherin?” 

“Well, not quite. I got to Hogwarts quite late, around ten at night or so. McGonagall wanted to put the Sorting Hat on me, but that night something came up - I actually think it was James Potter, you know? I think he managed to blow up something, or was caught out of bed, can’t remember. He always did stuff like that, that blithering idiot.

“Anyway, it was getting very late and I was a very tired eleven-year-old and still recovering from Dragon Pox. Keeping me up so late was out of the question. McGonagall knew that all Black family members always ended up in Slytherin, so she told me to go to the Slytherin dormitories for the night, and that the next day I’ll be sorted, and if the Hat said anything other than Slytherin, they’d move me - although,” he said with a smile, and he remembered Minerva’s voice as she said that last statement, “I don’t think she expected a different result.”

He eyed the Hat apprehensively again. “The next day - well, you know what Hogwarts is like. Things came up. The only person who remembered I never got sorted was old Slughorn, and he was quite happy with me in Slytherin. I don’t think he wanted me sorted, to be honest. I wasn’t very happy with Slytherin, but I made friends that very first night with Sev, everything else felt comfortable, I didn’t want to poke a sleeping dragon - you know, what happens if you end up a Hufflepuff and all those things kids think.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

She looked silently at the Hat for a moment. “So you’ve never tried it on?” she asked.

He eyed it as well, an unexplained feeling of dread rushing over him all of a sudden. What difference did it make if he weren’t a Slytherin? It was forty years ago - it had no relevance to their lives, not anymore, not for a long time. And besides, even if he wasn’t a Slytherin then, he was certainly one now.

It was irrelevant.

And yet, he picked up the Hat, unravelled it, and just played with it in his hands for a while. Hermione, next to him, said nothing.

Suddenly, out of a silly impulse more than anything else, he stuffed it over his head.

Everything went dark - no light penetrated the Hat’s material. And nothing happened. He felt ridiculous, trying the Hat on after all these years. What did he expect would happen? The Hat would shout, as he’d seen it done for six years at Hogwarts, ‘Slytherin’? Maybe the Hat was only active on the first of September, he thought and made to remove the Hat.

“Ah,” he heard a small voice - inside his head. His hands froze in place. “Sirius Black. You’re forty years late, I should imagine,” said the hat.

“Better late than never, don’t they say?” Sirius asked the Hat silently.

“That would depend,” the Hat answered, and it sounded like a wry smile in its voice. “Who are these ‘they’ you speak of?”

“Just an expression.”

“Ah.” The Hat was silent again.

“So? Which house am I?” Sirius thought irritably.

“Why is it so important to you, Sirius Black?” the Hat enquired. 

“It’s not.”

“Then why did you put me on?”

“Just curious.”

“Curiosity...” The Hat sounded almost sniggering. 

“ _Well_?”

“Are you sure you want an answer, Sirius Black?” The Hat audibly sighed. It seemed to think the entire practice was useless, or, perhaps, didn’t feel like doing its duty so late in the year.

“Yes,” Sirius felt reckless all of a sudden. “Yes. I want to know.”

“Well, in that case... There’s plenty of bravery - some recklessness, even, I should think. And _impatience_ ,” the Hat said rather sternly. “A need to remain active, and not very good at cunning or planning - tell me, how did no one see before that you have no room in Slytherin, when you’re such an obvious _Gryffindor_!”

Sirius removed the Hat angrily and stuffed it on the seat beside him. 

“Well?” Hermione asked next to him, her eyes studying the crumpled hat.

“Guess,” Sirius said darkly.

“Gryffindor,” she stated, and smiled. He didn’t return to smile.

He looked around, not wanting to face Hermione’s smile. His eye caught the framed photograph, the photographs of the Snapes. His best friends. He looked at them for a moment. His two best friends, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor. Did it matter? It all happened so many years ago, what difference did it make now? 

Because, a small voice said in his head, you’re living the wrong life. If things would have gone the way they were supposed to, you would have been in Gryffindor, and everything else would have changed.

But that life wasn’t any better. Ron and Hermione’s memories of a cursed life, where everyone he had ever loved was dead, where even defeating Voldemort didn’t make anything better - even Ron and Hermione themselves thought that. It wasn’t just their earlier argument. He could see that, the tiredness in their eyes, the despair in their manner. Oh, they jumped on the opportunity to collect Horcruxes and to help the rest of them, jumped on the opportunity to do something to rescue their friend, but there was no happiness in them, only determination, and even their determination seemed to flicker. And as for Harry Potter, that son that should never have been of Lily’s, such a wreck of a man. How was that better? How was that more right?

It wasn’t, was the answer Sirius came with. It wasn’t right. It was wrong. They were living their right life, the only life there was, and there was nothing more to it.

 

**26th December, 2010, 4:30 p.m. X removed to S’:**

“Minerva,” Harry said softly. “Minerva.”

The old Transfiguration teacher - and, in Harry’s memories, headmistress of Hogwarts - was lying on a chintz sofa, in the corner of their makeshift tent. Harry thought his old professor would have been rather proud of his Transfiguration skills - had she been awake and capable of appreciating such insignificant things. 

“Minerva,” he tried again.

This time, the old woman groaned and opened her eyes. He smiled in relief.

They were like that, all around them. Most of them hadn’t realised that the Dementors were gone. They had been locked up there in Azkaban for so long, that even the lack of Dementors did not register. 

It didn’t help that they could not be brought back to anything remotely close to civilisation. Harry would have loved to take the whole lot of them to St Mungo’s, to be checked by Healers, and be given whatever useful potions the Healers had. But of course they couldn’t do that. They couldn’t even bring them back to London.

They brought them, instead, to the Forest of Dean. It was the first place that came to Harry’s mind. “Just goes to show,” he whispered to Ron, “how messed up this whole place is.” He hadn’t thought about the Forest of Dean for a long time.

They had to Transfigure everything out of the things they found in the forest, and when push came to shove, out of thin air too. Tents, heaters, beds, anything but food, which could not be Transfigured. Ron had started talking about going back to London, to the hiding place, to get wands and food and anything else they would require, but Harry shook his head. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that they had been attacked by Death Eaters so soon after they had left the house. The Death Eaters knew. They couldn’t go back there. 

Dean and Luna ended up Apparating to a nearby Muggle village and stealing some groceries and Muggle medicine. Harry was unhappy with the idea of stealing from Muggles, but with so many people who needed help, he couldn’t afford to complain. It was like Dean had said before he left with Luna. The discussion about moralities would have to be postponed for later.

There were plenty of things they had to postpone for later: what to do with so many people, from wands to accommodations; how to make good on his promise to use them as an army; how to defeat Malfoy; how to go back home. For now, they all had to take the back seat to the most urgent matter, which, as far as Harry was concerned, was Minerva McGonagall.

“Potter,” she said in a shocked croak.

“That’s right, Minerva,” he smiled at her.

“But you’re - you’re - you’re dead!”

“I wasn’t very happy with that prognosis,” he said, the smile on his face widening.

She gave him the kind of impatient ‘tut’ that sent him back straight to his Hogwarts days. “I never thought I’d see you again,” she said at last.

“Well, you know how life is. Full of surprises.”

“Is it really you? Have you come here to save us? Or is this just a dream?”

“The dream’s over,” he said. “It’s going to be fine.” Another impossible promise, of course, and he knew it, but if it would help Minerva McGonagall get better, he thought, it didn’t matter. He’d make it possible. “Do you need anything? Water, tea... Ron’s making one hell of a chicken from the smell.”

“Just water,” she said. He went to fetch her a glass of water. 

She wasn’t the only one who recognised him. Tom from the Leaky Cauldron gave him a strange look, and Harry was sure he realised who he was; Mundungus Fletcher almost dropped his Chicken-à-la-Ron in surprise when he saw Harry; and Ab Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes followed Harry wherever he went.

But most of the people around them had withdrawn into themselves as soon as they were left alone. They didn’t look around, they didn’t move around. They didn’t say anything or do anything if they weren’t explicitly addressed by someone else. They just... sat there. The truth was they weren’t an army, Harry thought grimly. ‘Refugees’ was more like it.

Someone tapped on his shoulder - Ron, carrying a plate with chicken and two forks. “Figured you’d want some before we’re all out,” he said.

Harry didn’t even bother to confirm Ron’s words - he just sat down on the spot and wolfed down the food. 

“Not quite the army I’d take to storm the Ministry,” Ron said after all the chicken was gone.

“There’s some great wizards and witches here,” Harry answered.

“Yeah. And most of them have spent years in Azkaban. The old Azkaban.”

Harry didn’t bother answering. Ron was right, of course.

“I’ve been thinking about something else,” Ron started again after a moment.

“Oh?”

“So many people here without wands... we’re sitting ducks. If anyone finds us we won’t be able to Apparate everyone again.”

“Yeah. We need to get everyone wands.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry said with a big smile. “Only one place to get wands.”

“Ollivander’s,” they said together and laughed.

“Does he still own the shop, do you think?”

“We could ask,” Ron said, then called, “Oi! Dean!” 

Dean, who was sitting in another corner and talking to Luna, walked over. “What’s up, guys?”

“Is Ollivander still in business?” Ron asked in a casual voice. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Dean answered. “Last time I was in Diagon Alley he was still there.”

“Excellent.”

Harry and Ron decided to leave on their own. They couldn’t take too big a group, of course - their aim was, as Ron pointed out, not to draw too much attention, especially as Malfoy’s forces were bound to be on alert.

“And I bet some of them are competent, even if they _are_ working for Malfoy,” Harry said. No one laughed but Ron.

It wasn’t even evening yet when they left, but the sun had already set. “I wish it was summer,” Ron muttered. “I hate how dark it gets round Christmas.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be in London soon,” Harry reassured him.

Of course, he had forgotten to take into account the fact that they couldn’t Apparate right into Diagon Alley, or into London at all, for that matter. It was lucky that Padma had reminded them before they left. “Or else, they’d know we’re here,” she said, and Harry and Ron looked at each other in alarm. How close they had come to give their location away - only because of Apparition!

They Apparated into a small village outside London. “What are we going to do now?” Ron asked, and Harry pulled out his wand - and Transfigured a couple of papers in his pocket into Muggle money. “Take the bus,” he said.

Ron looked at him in horror. 

“Calm down, it’s the Christmas holidays. There won’t be a lot of traffic.”

For some reason, Ron didn’t seem at all reassured.

The journey went by in relative peace - if Harry ignored Ron’s incessant complaints about how slow Muggle transportation was, how inefficient, how _smelly_. Harry simply filtered out the complaints after a while.

When they were already well inside London, and on their way to the centre of the city, Ron started talking about other things. “What do we do once everyone gets a wand, though?” he asked. 

“How d’you mean?” Harry asked absently.

“They have nowhere to go. Think about it - they can’t go anywhere, probably not even their families. Those of them who have families left.”

“Well, if they want to fight with us, why not?”

“What about those who wouldn’t want to fight, though? After so much time in Azkaban...” he shuddered. “Some of them will probably just want some peace and quiet.”

“We can worry about this later.”

“Can we? Look, Harry - we don’t, I mean, this place, it’s... it’s impossible. And you’ve seen them - they’re not Sirius, they’re not the Death Eaters... Hell, Harry, look at Luna. Look at Dean. We can’t assume we can just go on with whatever it is that’s going on here and things will get better all on their own.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was saved from further discussing the topic - and admitting that he had no clue what to do - when the bus finally stopped. Harry grabbed his chance and got up. “Come on,” he told Ron. “That’s our stop.”

This excursion into London proved much simpler then their last one - at least, Harry thought, in this direction. What would happen after they visited Ollivander’s was a different story entirely, but that was one more thing they could worry about later. The streets were full of people - shoppers, trying not to miss on any Boxing Day deals; tourists, who for some reason thought London in the snow was a good idea; and, he suspected, wizards and witches, somewhere in the crowds.

They didn’t have time to wonder about hidden wizards and witches. Soon they were standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron, at the only entrance to Diagon Alley. 

“I’m getting a bad feeling about this...” Ron said.

Harry, who secretly agreed, just pointed out they didn’t have much choice.

“I know we don’t have a choice. Still doesn’t mean we’re not being completely thick,” Ron pointed out.

Harry laughed - a short, nervous laughter, that perfectly reflected the nervousness he felt inside - and walked through the door.

His heart thumped loudly in his ears. His palms started sweating. He hadn’t felt like that for years, he realised. Not since they had to break into the Ministry, not since they had to break into Gringotts - not since that year when they were on the run and risked their lives every time they encountered other wizards. He thought he had left it all behind, but here he was now - knowing that simply being next to other wizards was a ridiculously stupid thing to do.

Still, he had now what he didn’t have a dozen years ago - experience. Look nonchalant, he knew. Look as if you belonged there. Don’t give them a chance at even a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t even look at the wizard behind the bar as he walked through the pub, straight to the alley that led into Diagon Alley.

Behind him, he could hear Ron breathing hard.

“We did it,” he whispered. “No one’s tried to stop us. S’okay.”

“Yeah...”

Once inside Diagon Alley, though, everything was different. Harry couldn’t help but notice that the Muggles’ Boxing Day sales did not extend to the wizarding world. The Diagon Alley he remembered was full of life, shoppers - and yes, sales, as wizards found themselves shopping quite as much as Muggles on Boxing Day. But here, the wizard-only high street was almost empty. Most of the shops were already dark and closed, their owners finding no reason to keep them open as evening fell. The few shops that were open were almost completely empty, full of bored shopkeepers who were looking outside their windows, in the hope that customers would come along.

The empty street made both of them feel exposed, and they started walking faster and faster. The last thing they needed was that someone would recognise them and alert the Ministry. It didn’t take them long to reach Ollivander’s, which was almost at the centre of the street.

The shop was already closed. Harry looked around nervously, trying to locate any curious eyes.

“No one’s looking,” Ron whispered. He had been scanning the street around them as well.

“ _Alohomora_ ,” Harry whispered. The door to the dark shop opened without a sound. “Come on.”

At first, the shop looked just like Harry remembered it. It was almost bare, except for the counter, and behind it rows and rows of wands, neatly stacked in boxes. But as he looked closer, Harry could see the differences here, too - the paint on the counter was peeling, and parts of the wood seemed in danger of falling off. The boxes, so neatly stacked in his memory, seemed to be organised in a completely random fashion. And there was dust everywhere. As he walked near one of the shelves, he couldn’t help but sneeze.

“Harry!” Ron admonished him in a whisper.

“Sorry,” he whispered back. “So, how are we going to do it? Just pick up random wands?”

“I don’t think we can bring people in to test them, do you?” Ron answered.

“Yeah, I guess not...”

He took some of the more dust-covered boxes, stopping another sneeze, and started shoving them into his bag. He managed to take perhaps twenty boxes, when a noise caught his attention. Someone was walking down the steps.

“Damn,” he whispered. “Ron!” 

Ron, who was picking his own boxes at the other side of the room, didn’t hear him, nor did he hear the footsteps. Too late - the light was turned on.

Harry hid behind the counter, hoping beyond hope that Ron had heard Ollivander coming down before it was too late - and hoping even more desperately that he had the chance to hide himself somewhere.

No such luck - almost immediately he heard Ollivander’s voice. “Mr Weasley,” the old man sounded shocked. “But - what are - ?”

“We, er, needed some wands,” Ron said.

“I don’t understand,” Mr Ollivander said. 

Ah, well, thought Harry with a sigh. It was too good to last, anyway. “We couldn’t think of a better place to get our wands from, Mr Ollivander,” he said as he jumped from behind the counter. 

Ollivander stared at him in shock. “But you’re dead,” he said eventually.

“Im that case, I can’t possibly be here, and so our presence is of no concern to you,” he said. With a jerk of the head, he gave Ron a signal - go to the door. They couldn’t afford Ollivander leaving the shop, not until they were far away.

“But this is impossible,” Ollivander insisted again.

“Of course it is,” Harry said reassuringly. If he knew the man at all - any moment now... Ollivander turned on the spot and fled towards the door. Harry was ready. “ _Stupify_!” he cursed the old man, who fell to the floor unconscious. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do that.”

“He’ll be alright,” Ron said. “Come on, let’s finish this and get out of here.” They finished stacking wands into their backpacks and walked out of the shop.

The first curse came as soon as they opened the door. A green jet of light splattered on the wall, where Harry’s head had been a split-second before. Only the reflexes of an Auror had saved him. He retaliated instinctively, without even thinking about it - but without seeing his opponent, he didn’t have much hope of hitting his target.

“How did they know?!” Harry whispered once they were back in the safety of the shop - with the door closed. But not for long, he knew. There was nothing stopping them - whoever _they_ were - from walking to the door and opening it, moving the fight into the shop and boxing the two of them further in.

“Maybe they saw the light,” Ron suggested.

“Maybe Ollivander contacted them before he came down.”

“Harry, does it matter? We need a way out of here!” Ron’s urgent whispered returned Harry’s mind to reality - if he could call this terrible place that. _How_ it happened didn’t matter, or at least, it didn’t matter right now. What mattered right now was getting out of this mess. “Maybe there’s a back door or something...”

“They could just as well come from there, too,” Ron pointed out, but after a quick discussion, they failed to come up with any alternatives, and the two of them crawled under the windows and adjacent to the wall, until they got to the base of the door, and settled on the floor besides it. 

It was a large and thick wooden door, with a small window set at the high end. Harry needed to study it only for a moment to realise just how much trouble they were in. If there was anyone outside, they’d see the door open. They would be exposed long before the gap was wide enough for him to get a good look at the back alley. 

“Think we should open it?” Ron asked, sounding reluctant - he must have reached the exact same conclusion.

“Think we could see through the window?” Harry asked. 

Ron shook his head. “Not with the rest of the shop’s windows around us,” he said. “They’ll see us the second we even try to stand up.

Harry swore. “There has to be something!” he said. “Anything.”

“Maybe if we could - ” Ron never finished his sentence. From the front room, they could hear the door blasted open. They looked at each other for a second, then jumped up at the same time and, back to back, started sending spells in each direction.

“Stupify!” Harry shouted, not aiming at any one wizard in particular. Behind him, he heard Ron shouting “Impedimenta!”. One wizard was down. Another thump on the ground told him Ron got one, too. Another wizard fell, and Harry managed to get to the back door and open it. 

No curses greeted him, no Death Eaters blocked his way. This direction, it seemed, was safe - for now. “Ron!” he shouted, and shot through the door and into the freezing back alley. Ron came behind him, and they started running out of the alley.

It didn’t take ten seconds before they heard someone shouting, “They’re there!” That shout didn’t come from inside the house: it appeared that some of the Death Eaters had remained outside, to alert the others if Harry and Ron got away. They could hear the Death Eaters chasing after them, sending curses at them.

“This way,” Ron said all of a sudden, and they changed direction abruptly. It turned out to be one of the small throughways to Knockturn Alley - not the place Harry would usually choose to hide from Death Eaters, but it was full of small twists and turns, big rubbish bins and other objects they could hide behind. Soon, Harry and Ron were crouching behind a particularly large bin, while the Death Eaters rushed by. They could hear their footsteps, see their shoes from the other side of the bin. Harry heard one of them shout to the others, “Where did they go?!”. In his mind, he imagined it was Dolohov’s voice. He counted the running shoes. One pair, two pairs, four pairs... and then there was nothing.

“We can’t go out of here,” he whispered to Ron. “That wasn’t even half of them.” He didn’t need to finish that sentence. Ron knew what it meant. The rest were standing at the mouth of the passageway, waiting to see if they came out on the other end. 

“What are we going to do?!” 

Harry didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. Truth be told, he had no idea, no clue how they could get out of that one. He started rummaging his pockets, looking for something - anything - to help them out, when his hand closed on a small, smooth object - a stone. The pebble he had taken from Azkaban. 

“That’s it!” he whispered. If he activated it - they could Apparate out of Diagon Alley, out of London, get back to the rest. He just had to figured out - how to - 

“Here they are!” someone shouted. Their time was up. He pressed his wand to the stone, muttered an incantation, grabbed Ron, and hoped for the best.

When he next opened his eyes, they were in the Forest of Dean. Around them, everything was quiet. The snow piled on, undisturbed. The darkness was complete. And there were no voices everywhere. 

“What happened?” Ron groaned. 

“We made it. Come on, we need to find the rest.” 

 

**26th December, 2010, 10:43 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

“I can’t believe we’re back here,” Ron said as he surveyed the room.

It was the Gryffindor dormitories, and they looked exactly like Ron remembered them to be. The four-poster beds, arranged in the room - by the count of it, there were six students in the current class of Gryffindors seventh-years. 

“Weren’t there less beds?” Harry asked.

“Yeah - we were five. It’s been a while, though,” Ron said.

“Yeah.”

Ron looked around again. Their first night there, they had slept on some makeshifts beds in what Ron highly suspected was a broom cupboard. His second night he had spent with his family at the hospital wing. Now, when Dumbledore had realised things would not be as simple as he had hoped them to be, they were given more reasonable accommodations - in the empty Gryffindor tower.

“Funny no one’s staying for Christmas,” Harry said next to him.

“We didn’t always stay, either,” Ron pointed out. “Fifth year we stayed with Sirius.”

“Right.”

“And sixth year at my parents.”

“Right.”

The short-lived conversation died again. Ron was now thinking of his parents, of that Christmas, all those years ago. The last Christmas they had together. Hermione had said she ended up at the Burrow: with the Christmas decorations, his mum’s pies, the guests, the company... Hermione had mentioned all the reasons why they shouldn’t stay here, but as Ron looked around the empty Gryffindor dormitories, all he could think was that the next Christmas, he wanted to be there, too. To spend it with his parents again.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by a new voice. “Hi,” Hermione said. She walked into the room back from her shower, still drying her hair with a bright green towel. 

“You made it through?” he joked. 

“I know, shocking. Hey, Harry - didn’t you say you wanted to use the shower?”

“Yeah...” Harry picked up another fluffy green towel, inspected it sceptically, then walked out of the room.

Hermione waited until the footsteps had died down completely before she opened her mouth again. “I spoke with Dumbledore. He said, since Voldemort has no idea that we’re here and what we’re doing, we may actually have some time. I agree with him.”

“We don’t have time,” Ron pointed out. “Neville.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s not exactly what I meant... We can’t let the search for the locket end up the way it did the last time.”

“Did you talk to Regulus?”

“Yeah. He never heard anything about Horcruxes, or anything that could make Voldemort immortal. The locket should be there.”

“Okay, then how...”

She shook her head. “Dumbledore said he’ll go there first thing tomorrow, to see what he can make of the potion. Don’t worry - he’s got no intention of drinking it.”

“I don’t like this, Hermione. I should go with him.”

“We should both - ”

He shook his head. “No. Harry.” He didn’t have to say any more than that - she understood. They couldn’t take Harry with them to the cave, and not just because of the danger. Ron still wasn’t sure exactly how much of those last few years Harry remembered. He knew he didn’t remember all of it; he knew that every once in a while, Harry came up with a comment or a joke about some small, unimportant event that Ron himself had forgotten years and years ago. Hermione said once that she thought he did remember everything - it wasn’t his memory that was the problem, she said, it was how he dealt with it. Ron wasn’t quite sure it mattered.

The one thing Ron was sure of, however, was that even if Harry didn’t remember the cave now, he would remember it if he ever set foot in it again. They couldn’t let him go through it, not again, even if it were only in his memories. As far as Ron was concerned, Harry should not be told that Dumbledore was going to the cave at all, even if he was only going there to check things out. If both Ron and Hermione disappeared, however, he was bound to notice. No - only one of them could go.

But Ron still had something on his mind. “What happens if Dumbledore can’t figure it out?” he asked. “What if there is no antidote?”

She pursed her lips. “That won’t be our problem,” she said.

“What - Hermione, you can’t possibly suggest - ”

“We’re doing this because it’s the only way to get Neville out.”

“No, we’re also doing it because this is _Voldemort_!”

“But once we’ve got Neville, we can go back home.”

She said it softly, almost apologetically. He didn’t answer. Next, he felt her hand on his shoulder. “We don’t belong here, Ron,” she whispered.

He turned away from her, and instead looked through the window at the snow outside. “Why not?” he asked finally.

She didn’t answer.

“It’s home, Hermione. It’s much more home than - whatever it is we remember. Our family’s here.”

“Yours is,” she whispered. 

Only now did he turn to her. She had tears in her eyes. He made to wipe them away, but she turned her head away. “Your parents are also here, Hermione,” he said.

She shook her head. “Their daughter died nineteen years ago, Ron. They’re not my parents.”

He knew what he should have said next. He should have told her what he really thought - even if they did somehow defeat Malfoy, even if they did somehow earn their freedom, at last, after long twelve years, even if she did find her way to Australia - and even if, most unlikely of all, she managed to find her parents there after all that time... they wouldn’t know her, either. Their daughter was also dead. But he couldn’t say that. He knew that somewhere, deep down, she knew it all too well. How unlikely it was that she could ever reunite with her parents, as if nothing had happened. But he couldn’t see the expression on her face if he forced those words upon her.

Instead, he just said gently, “You could get to know them,” he said. “And they could get to know you.”

Once again, she didn’t answer. He wanted to tell her it will be alright, that they would find a solution, in the end - but at that moment, Harry walked into the room. Quickly, she wiped away her tears, and he pretended to do something else entirely. Harry gave them a strange look for a moment, then went to his chosen bed and put the towel up to dry. 

He didn’t leave it be, though. Instead, he kept on staring at it.

“What’s up, Harry?” Ron asked casually. 

“Trying to remember the spell to dry this thing up,” he said.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Hermione gave him the spell, despite Ron’s feeling that nothing good could come out of it. 

He proved to be right, of course. Harry tried the spell, his wand touching the towel - and the towel started smouldering.

“Whoops!” Hermione jumped off the bed, and touched the towel with her own wand - the thin smoke disappeared and the towel dried itself up.

“Forget about it,” Ron told him. “Just a stupid spell.”

Harry threw the wand on the bedstand in frustration. There was no point in telling him that it would get better. By now, more than two years after they had killed Voldemort, after they had found Harry again, they already knew. It wasn’t going to get better. Not unless something fundamental in their lives would change.

“Hey,” Hermione said all of a sudden, “you’ll never guess who I just ran into.”

“Who?” Ron asked, glad for the chance to change the topic of the conversation.

“Filch!”

“Does he still have that cat of his?” Harry asked.

“Yeah, Mrs Norris, she was following him around! He started questioning me who I was and why I was out of bed... I had to point out to him I’m way too old to be a student.”

“Bet he didn’t like that...”

Hermione laughed. “No, he looked so unhappy. Just like that time, d’you remember? When...”

 

**27th December, 2010, 02:45 a.m. X removed to S’:**

Harry sat up with a jolt in the hammock that was assigned to him as a bed. Next to him, Ron was already sitting up, looking at him suspiciously. The rest of the tent seemed undisturbed.

“Everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” Harry answered in a whisper. “Go back to sleep.” 

Ron didn’t lie back in his own hammock, Harry knew. He was sure his friend’s eyes were set on him as he got up and walked around the dark tent.

Everywhere he went, there were hammocks - and at times, a bunk bed. People were sleeping, snoring - but some of them, Harry noticed, were awake, too. All of them were clutching their newly acquired wands. They had gone so long without wands, that Harry imagined they didn’t really believe they actually had them back. 

Harry left the tent. Outside, a fire was burning. Must have been Dean’s idea, he thought, as he noticed the man sitting in front of it, clutching a mug in his hand.

“Hey,” he said and sat down next to him.

“Hey.”

They stared at the fire for a while in silence.

“What’s in the mug?” Harry asked in the end. 

“What’s left of the hot cocoa from earlier,” he said, then amended, “well, and a bit of whiskey.”

Harry chuckled softly. “Just what you need to get sleepy,” he said. Dean didn’t laugh with him.

“We need to take over the Ministry,” Dean said at last. Harry wondered, for a moment, whether he said such a thing due to the influence of alcohol.

“We will. I think we could take some people and try to get there tomorrow. Aberforth, Mundugus... Minerva, if she’s feeling up to it. A couple more. See what we can make of Malfoy’s defences.”

“I think we should take everyone who wants to go,” Dean said. “They’d want to fight, just like we do.”

“Some of these people haven’t held a wand in over a decade,” Harry reminded him gently.

“Then we’ll remind them what to do. We need the numbers. That’s how we’re going to defeat the Ministry. Numbers. Numbers and your strategy.”

Harry chuckled again. “You didn’t sound so reassured yesterday,” he said, “when we were talking about going into Azkaban.”

“Yeah, but since then, we broke into Azkaban, and you guys managed to go into Diagon Alley and back - with wands.” Now Dean smiled, the first smile Harry had seen on his face since he had found himself in this strange, strange place. “Maybe things are starting to work in our favour now.”

Harry pulled out the stone out of his pocket - the stone from Azkaban, the one which had saved their lives earlier that day. He started playing with it - tossing it up and down, catching it with his hand, then tossing it again. “Maybe,” he said. 

In the fire before them, the flames danced and danced.


	5. For Want of a Wand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The familiar dialogue in the end is taken, of course, from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

**27th December, 2010, 5:47 a.m. X removed to S’:**

The fire had died out by the time everyone assembled in front of the tent. They weren’t as many as Dean had hoped, Harry could see. They had rescued more than thirty prisoners from Azkaban, and about a third of them had joined their little excursion. In Harry’s opinion, that was better than they had any right to hope for - especially when one of those in front of the tent was Minerva McGonagall. After a night’s rest, two good meals and no Dementors around her for hours, she looked much more like the McGonagall he remembered. 

With her stood Aberforth Dumbledore, Mundungus Fletcher, Tom the ex-barman, and more unexpected people: Victor Krum, Andromeda Tonks, Aurora Sinistra, Angelina Johnson, and Anthony Goldstein’s old Hogwarts friend, Terry Boot.

They all looked ready, they all looked prepared, and they all looked as if there was nothing they wanted to do more than to break into the Ministry and take down Malfoy. Harry should have felt exhilarated, seeing them like that. Instead, it made him think of something else entirely - how many of the people he knew had died in this travesty of a world. Hagrid, Kingsley, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbot, Lavender Brown, Dennis Creevey... And while no one said anything, he suspected a large portion of the Weasley family and even young Teddy Lupin were gone. He didn’t have the heart to ask. But all he could see were the people who should have been there, but weren’t. 

Instead, he asked the people in front of him whether they were ready. Their expressions were grim but determined when they answered ‘yes’.

“Ready?” he asked the second group - Dean and Anthony, Parvati and Padma, and mostly Luna, who had none of that dreamy expression he was so used to see on her face. They were ready, too.

Next to him, Ron’s face were tense but resolute. “Let’s go.”

They decided to go into London very much the same way he and Ron had done the day before - by Muggle public transportation. This time, however, they took the train from half a dozen different spots, after Harry had pointed out that nearly twenty people boarding the same bus at the same early morning hour and in one of the small, unimportant towns next to London would rouse suspicion.

“So what?” Dean had argued. “What difference does it make if the Muggles notice us?”

“Because,” Harry answered, “as much as I hate to say it, Malfoy might be a fool, but he must have _someone_ competent around him. Yesterday we almost didn’t make it back because someone tipped off the Ministry - I’d rather not repeat that experience.”

It took more than an hour until everyone assembled at the agreed spot, at St James’s Park. The world was still dark around them, as if it were the middle of the night. But Harry knew it would be daybreak soon. There was no time to waste. 

They were going to enter the Ministry through all possible entrances. Some of them would take the visitors’ entrance, that old phone box that still stood at the exact spot Harry had remembered, the same place he had used it years and years ago with Arthur Weasley. Others would go through the system Voldemort’s Ministry had employed so long ago, through the public toilets. And a small group...

“Well,” Harry smiled without mirth, “we’re just going to come knocking through the front door.”

“Good luck,” Ron said, before he led his group through the toilets.

“Good luck,” Harry answered, and signalled to Luna. Their small group constituted of McGonagall, Angelina, Viktor Krum and a small wizard who turned out to be Dedalus Diggle, under copious amounts of beard.

The entrance they chose into the Ministry was through the long tunnel that connected the Muggle government buildings to the wizarding ones. A Muggle who looked at it would only see a door, with the warning _Danger. High voltage. Do not enter_. The wizards, however, could see the inscription: _Welcome to the Ministry of Magic_. This early in the morning they could take this route without being discovered. Still, Harry insisted they walked through the door in pairs. There wad bound to be Muggle security there, and there was no need to draw attention to themselves. It took them five minutes to assemble behind the door, then Harry led the way into the Ministry.

As they had agreed, Harry’s group was the first to walk into the Ministry. The rest will come in a minute or two, he knew, but his group was given the hardest task - distract the guards, and Harry wasn’t quite sure how to do it. As he had told Ron the night before, when they planned their little excursion, that was the least of their problems. If necessity demanded it, he could probably just go and chat to the guards for a few moments before cursing them.

He did not expect the curses to start hitting them the second they walked through the tunnel.

**27th December, 2010, 7:00 a.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

It was far too early to Ron’s liking. Dumbledore had insisted they left before sunrise, to give them more time, he said. More time for what, Ron wasn’t sure. After all, what difference would another hour or two make? Voldemort didn’t know how many of his Horcruxes had already been discovered, and Dumbledore was not dying. The only good thing that came out of this early excursion was that it gave him the chance to leave the room before Harry woke up, so at least he didn’t have to find an excuse. 

To Ron’s surprise, finding the cave did not prove a problem. Harry had told Ron all those years ago where it was and how to get there. Ron wasn’t sure at first whether he remembered it accurately enough - Harry had shared his tale with them back when they were on the run, at least a dozen years ago. But he had the impression that this Dumbledore knew more than he was letting on - which, if Ron were honest with himself, was no surprise at all. Ron only had to describe the cave in general details for the old Headmaster to nod and say, “Yes, I think I am familiar with this cave of yours.”

The cave they ended up in, at the crack of dawn and freezing with the sea breeze, looked very much like the one Harry described. “Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said as soon as they arrived. “This is the place.”

“How can you tell?” Ron couldn’t help but asking.

“Because I am afraid we can move no further by magic. From here on, we shall have to swim.”

Ron thought the old wizard was taking it all rather well. He didn’t fancy at all entering the freezing water - not at that hour, not at that time of the year, and definitely not with the temperature below zero. He had no choice, though - he was the one who volunteered to go with Dumbledore. 

“Are you ready, Mr Weasley?” Dumbledore asked with an eyebrow raised, and jumped head-first into the sea. 

“No,” Ron said with a sigh, and jumped in after him. 

The swim did not take that long, and afterwards it only took a simple spell to get them both warm again, but still, Dumbledore sat down to catch his breath, and Ron was glad for the break, as short as it was.

“We’re going to have to do that again, aren’t we?” he couldn’t help but asking.

“I’m afraid so,” Dumbledore said, but there was amusement in his voice.

“Hopefully it will be warmer then - damn! Wasn’t this cold when Harry did it, that was in June.”

Dumbledore studied him for a moment. “Can I ask you something, Mr Weasley?”

“Sure, of course you can.”

“If I understood correctly, Ms Granger, Mr Potter and yourself were in the middle of a rescue mission when you ended up here.”

“Yeah - we told you. Malfoy got Neville. He was going to execute him, and we couldn’t - ” he hesitated for a moment. “Well, we couldn’t leave him there.”

“I completely understand,” Dumbledore answered, but Ron thought he could detect a trace of disapproval in his voice.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Was it wise to take Mr Potter with you?”

Ron froze. “I don’t understand what you mean,” he said slowly.

“I think you do, Ron. Not only are you risking Mr Potter’s life in missions that he is clearly unfit for, but also your own lives, as you put yourself in further danger by taking care of him as well as the mission.”

“Harry has never disappointed us during crisis,” Ron said - and all the while remembered how Harry could not even Apparate to Hogwarts’ gates the day before. But that was different, he argued with himself, he was wounded. 

“So far,” said Dumbledore. “You are playing with your lives here, Ron. Mr Potter should stay with someone who can take care of him, not be put through ordeals he is not capable of dealing with.”

Oh. “Harry’s not Ariana, Mr Dumbledore,” Ron said. His assumption was an accurate one - Dumbledore’s head turned to him sharply, angrily even. Ron thought of Harry, the day before, when he faced Dumbledore and refused to back down. “I understand that you see him now, so you don’t know how he used to be, what kind of things he did. But we do.”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore, “ _used_ to be. Perhaps it is not I who is thinking of the past, Mr Weasley, but you.”

“No, sir,” Ron said, getting on his feet. “You’re wrong. Harry isn’t just one of us - he’s always been the one we’ve followed. And nothing bad has ever happened to us when we followed Harry.”

**27th December, 2010, 8:13 a.m. X removed to S’:**

“ _Protego_!” Harry yelled, but it was no good - not with this wand. The curse went right through the shield charm. He ducked and rolled on the floor, trying to curse the Death Eater from his new position - and while still in movement. His arm stung, but there was no time to worry about that - behind him, he could hear someone - Ron? - shouting another curse at the same Death Eater, then his own name. “Harry!” 

Harry tried to answer and reassure Ron that the Death Eater didn’t get him, but with all the mayhem, he never got the chance. Ron wouldn’t have heard him anyway, he figured. He got up from the floor in one swift movement, then made to curse the Death Eater again. His stream of red light met the Death Eater’s green jet in mid-air, and they both ricocheted - the red light had hit another Death Eater, one of the two Luna was battling.

The green light hit Minerva McGonagall.

He didn’t even have the time to shout her name. Her body was falling, falling... _down_. He made his way towards her, knowing what he will find before he got there. 

She was dead.

The next jet of green light missed him by millimetres. He reacted without thinking, still shocked with what he had seen, and cursed the Death Eater back. His opponent was hit by the curse, and fell backwards with the force of it. But this small victory did not amount for anything. They were outnumbered, three to one at least, and the number was rapidly rising. They had lost not only Minerva - but also Tom and Viktor. And the thoroughly prepared and unsurprised Death Eaters were rising in numbers with every second.

There was nothing to it. They were not going to get through.

“Go back!” he shouted. “Everyone!” 

They started retreating - and fighting all the way back. Harry couldn’t see how they were going to manage their retreat, not as long as the Death Eaters were keeping them occupied. Perhaps, if they could just -

A huge, unexpected explosion made them all jump - Dean had performed some unknown spell with his wand, and half of the ceiling collapsed, sheltering them from the Death Eaters behind it. The Death Eaters were not the only ones behind this temporary wall - it had swallowed Minerva and Tom’s bodies, as well. Harry’s first instinct was to jump forward and try to get the bodies out, but there was no time for it. The living had to find a way out first. And they didn’t have much time - the Death Eaters were already working on clearing the debris.

“How do we get out?” someone asked in panic.

“Grab my hand - everyone, form a chain!” He had made sure to operate the stone right before they arrived. Apparating so many people out at the same time was less than ideal, and he would never try it under regular circumstances, but they really had no choice. Once everyone held their hands together, he turned on the spot.

Nothing happened. The stone wasn’t working.

“Harry!” Ron said in alarm. They could hear them - more and more, coming in through all doors, some of them from the wrong side of the debris barrier. 

There was no way out.

“Back through Westminster!” he shouted. “Let’s mix in with the Muggles.”

“Harry - we can’t - the Death Eaters don’t give a damn about Muggles!”

“We don’t have a choice.”

**27th December, 2010, 8:45 a.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

Waiting. That was the worst bit. Some days, Hermione thought she could get used to anything: she got used to running for her life; she got used to losing everything she cared about; she got used to torture and pain and death. She got used to her life so much that she couldn’t even remember what it was like before. But she never got used to the waiting. 

When she waited, all those things could be happening. And she had no way of knowing.

She sat down with Harry in the Great Hall with a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ and tried to read the book, compare it to her own memories, her own knowledge. Perhaps, she thought, she could recognise some points where the recorded history disagreed with the one she remembered. Perhaps she could recognise the traces of time travel. Or something. Anything to keep her mind occupied - but it was no good. She couldn’t concentrate on the words. She kept on staring at the same page, the same paragraph, over and over again, taking nothing in.

“Hi,” someone said. She looked up - Remus Lupin.

“Hi,” she said quietly. He sat down next to her, and pushed something in her direction - a cup of coffee.

“Figured you could do with it,” he said. “You look tired.”

She smiled. “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she admitted. “But you be careful with that. You keep it up and I’ll get used to someone bringing me food. Next thing I’ll start expecting it.”

He gave a hearty laughter. “Don’t worry,” he said. “If all I can contribute to our little conspiracy is handing out food to under-fed people, then I’ll consider it an honour!” She shook her head - he was so different from the way she remembered him, from the way she remembered his laughter. But then again, she thought darkly, she never had much of a chance to hear him laugh.

He must have noticed her face darkening. “They’ll be back soon,” he said.

“How do you know?”

“It’s Dumbledore. How could they not be back?”

“Last time he went there, it killed him.”

“Well, he won’t make any mistakes this time, Hermione, this time there’s no rush.”

She wasn’t quite sure what angered her more - the way Remus had dismissed what had happened the last time as a mistake, his cheerful attitude about the whole thing - or the fact he seemed to have forgotten all about Neville.

“There is a rush,” she said angrily and closed the book with a thump. “Voldemort’s got Neville, in case you’ve forgotten. Our friend. The only reason Neville’s still alive is because Voldemort doesn’t understand how he can be there and is too scared to kill him yet. But that doesn’t mean he’s not - ” she stopped abruptly. She couldn’t quite say the words. 

Not when Harry was sitting in the very next table.

Remus’s gaze followed hers, and for a moment, he was looking at Harry, too. “I’ve been wondering,” he said then quietly. “If I understood Dumbledore correctly, in your memories Harry was the one who faced Voldemort after the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Yes.” They never told the rest of them who Harry really was - what he meant to her and Ron. Dumbledore, of course, had figured it all out on his own, she was sure of it. As for the rest... she wasn’t sure they needed to know. But now, as she looked at Lupin, she suspected that they were starting to put all the pieces of the puzzle together without her help.

Next to her, Lupin was deep in thoughts. “How did he survive?” he asked. “Surely he didn’t know enough magic at the age of fourteen to defeat Voldemort?”

“His wand,” she said, and then proceeded to explain about the shared cores. It felt good, in a way - liberating. She got to talk about something other than Horcruxes. Something that had happened so long ago, that it didn’t even feel so terrible anymore. And more than that - this was something she was sure of, something she understood. Something familiar.

And Remus was listening. At first he was fascinated, but the more she talked, the sadder he became. “Neville - as we remember him - he used his father’s wand. Augusta wouldn’t hear of anything else. It wasn’t the money, you know - the Longbottoms are an old, pure-blood family, they’ve always had money.”

“I think it was grief,” Hermione suggested quietly.

“Yes, that’s it, exactly. Grief. Dumbledore suggested she took him to Ollivander’s, you see, get him a wand of his own. Augusta said no. She said that he should use his father’s wand. He was living with Alice’s family, you see. Dumbledore said it was necessary, even though Augusta wanted to raise him on her own. So the wand was... one of the ways she could still feel involved.”

Hermione nodded. “Don’t tell her, though,” she said, even though she didn’t think it needed to be said. “The wand would have probably picked him if he went there. But don’t tell her, she’d only blame herself.”

“I wasn’t going to,” he said kindly. Then he looked at Harry again. “It wasn’t a coincidence, was it, Hermione? That the wand chose him?”

“No.”

“James Potter and Lily Evans got married, had a boy at the same time as Alice and Frank...”

“And Voldemort had heard a prophecy,” she completed the information. “Only in our memories, he had a choice. And he chose - Harry.”

Harry got up from his place at the next table, and went to the corner of the room, where the Hogwarts house-elves had set a small table with coffee and tea and some biscuits. They watched him in silence as he made himself a cup of tea and took a biscuit, and then returned to the table and started reading another chapter of _Hogwarts: A History_.

“Did he ever know her?” Remus asked all of a sudden. “Lily? And James Potter, I suppose?”

Hermione shook her head. “He was only a year old when they died. He was raised by his aunt and her family. Lily’s sister... he didn’t know about magic until he got his Hogwarts letter.”

“He was probably very different from Neville. The way I remember him, I mean,” Remus said softly.

“Yeah.”

Remus considered this for a while. “Dumbledore thinks it might be time travel,” he said at last. “That things were supposed to go... your way, I guess. And someone loyal to Voldemort went back in time and changed it, so he would still be alive.”

“It doesn’t make much sense, though,” Hermione pointed out. “I sat with all of you - as far as I can tell the thing that changed everything was Sirius getting dragon pox. How could anyone figure that out? Doesn’t make any sense. Besides...” she started, but then hesitated.

“Besides what?” he asked.

How could she tell him? How could she explain? They tried to tell these people about their lives, but all he heard from their stories was that Voldemort was dead. How could she explain everything else? “It doesn’t make sense that a supporter of Voldemort would do this,” she said at last.

“Why not? In your memories Voldemort is dead. Here he’s still alive. Anyone loyal to him would have wanted to create this world, where they still have hope.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why not?” he insisted.

“Because this place is better.”

**27th December, 2010, 8:55 a.m. X removed to S’:**

He was right next to Luna, not a moment ago. He knew it for certain, he had seen her dirty blonde hair, could hear her voice - but now she was gone. He wasn’t sure where she was, or even if she ever went anywhere. Perhaps it was simply the masses of people here in this building, perhaps they simply walked between him and her and if he just waited one more second...

“Find Potter,” he heard the unfriendly voice, and realised that he couldn’t stay there, even if Luna did turn out to be just around the corner. It was too dangerous.

He started walking. Not too fast, not too slow, he tried to look like just another Muggle, going to work. A flick of his wand and his clothes changed their appearance to look like one of the suits the Muggles around him wore. With a little bit of help, that would confuse the Death Eaters for long enough and allow him to get away. Quite pointedly, he refused to think the next thought, which was, of course, ‘And then what?’. He could worry about that later. 

“There he is!” someone shouted. Harry started walking faster. Behind him, he thought he heard someone running, but didn’t turn around - maybe they’re not sure, he thought, maybe they’re guessing, maybe they pointed at someone else, maybe they’re going to lose him again...

He heard the spell shouted just in time, and ducked. A Muggle behind him screamed. He realised he was no longer holding his wand. He must have dropped it when he evaded the curse. There was nothing to it - he had to run.

“Get him! It’s Potter! Get him!” 

He thought he heard a security guard trying to interfere with the Death Eaters. Another scream followed. He wanted to turn around - it was his fault, all his fault, he was the one who retreated into a building packed with Muggles - but he couldn’t, not without his wand. Take a turn, a different hallway, the fire escape. He ran up the stairs, straight to the next floor. 

Fortunately, this floor was Death Eater-free. Unfortunately, it also had a lot less people walking around. If the Death Eaters figured out where he went, it would be a lot harder to avoid them.

He rushed through the different corridors with only one thing in mind: getting as much distance as possible between him and the Death Eaters. He didn’t have the time to worry about his wand, about his friends, about what they would do now that their plan had failed. 

He could hear the sound of a heavy door opening at a distance. The fire escape door? Did they find him? “Search the entire floor!” he could hear someone’s voice. A Death Eater’s. They outnumbered him and they had wands. He looked around desperately, looking for something - anything - that could offer an escape. But there was nothing in the corridor, nothing but offices. He would have to find a hiding place in one of them.

He was putting the Muggles in even more risk, he knew it. He had one thing to hope for - that if only he’d manage to hide well enough, the Muggles would come out unharmed.   
If the Death Eaters would start searching each and every office and kill their inhabitants, there was nothing he could do anymore.

He opened a door at random.

“Look, d’you mind? I’m trying to work here! I know most of the offices are closed for the holidays, but really!” 

He was slightly taken aback by this response. It came from a small woman, dressed in a suit, and staring at him from behind her glasses. She reminded him a bit of Minerva McGonagall, except that she was younger. Minerva... no, he couldn’t think about it now.

“I need your help,” he said quickly and earnestly. He really didn’t have any other choice. “There’s some people, they’re after me, please tell them you haven’t seen anyone, please.”

“Now why on earth would I do that? What’s the meaning of this? Who are you?” she started getting up in anger. Outside, he could hear the Death Eaters opening office doors, one by one. Getting closer.

“Please,” he said again. He wasn’t quite sure what it was that made her stop all of a sudden, but she nodded curtly. 

“The other office is closed,” she said and gestured towards a door connecting her office and the next. He opened the door, and immediately closed it, leaning on it to listen on the Death Eaters. It wasn’t a minute before they entered the Muggle woman’s office. 

“Excuse me, who are you and what are you doing here?” he heard the angry voice of his benefactor. 

“Did anyone walk in here?” one of the Death Eaters said. Harry thought he could recognise the voice - from the depth of his memories, it sounded very much like Amycus Carrow. His hand clutched the door handle.

“It’s one day after the Christmas holiday. No one walks in here,” she answered again irritably. Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Now who are you?” she demanded.

“We’re looking for a man. Maybe came in here.”

“I already told you, no one came in here but you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a report to finish. I don’t much like working on the holiday, and I would appreciate if you didn’t make me stay here any longer than necessary.”

When the possible Carrow next spoke, it didn’t sound as if he was addressing the Muggle woman. “She could be hiding him,” he grumbled to someone else.

“Doubt it, what does she have with him?”

“Maybe he cursed her.”

“Don’t think so, we found his wand downstairs.”

“Sure it’s his wand?”

After a few seconds - “We could try to curse her, just to see if she still says the same thing after the Cruciatus curse.” The owner of the voice sounded almost as if he was looking forward to that option. Harry swallowed, not just out of fear for himself, but for this Muggle woman who helped him and may now pay dearly for it. She can’t be the only Muggle working today, he thought. Go on. You have so many offices to check here. Leave her alone.

“What are you all talking about?” he heard her explode in anger. Please, leave her alone.

“Nothing, nothing,” Carrow said. “We’re going.” And a moment later - the sound of the door closing. 

Harry didn’t wait for them to get to the door to this office. He immediately opened the door and slipped back into the first office. She was already facing the door - and opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head frantically. And, indeed, as soon as he closed the door behind him, they could hear the door to the adjacent office opening, and someone muttering ‘No one here’. 

They waited in silence for another minute, until the sound of doors being slammed down the corridor died down.

“What were they talking about?” she was the first to talk. “Wands and... curses, and things?”

“It’s better you don’t know,” he answered. “Besides, you’re not going to believe me even if I told you.”

She looked at him in irritation for a moment, then finally said, “You’re bleeding, did you know that?”

“What?”

“Bleeding, from your arm? Right there?”

He looked down at his arm. He must have been wounded by some curse, or perhaps when he was running from the Death Eaters. He paid no attention to the stinging in his arm until she mentioned in, but now she had drawn his attention to it, his sleeve was soaked with blood and the stinging had long since turned into pain. He swore, and she didn’t look impressed at all. “You need to put something on it,” she said.

“I will. Later.”

“Go on then, bleed all over my carpet in the meantime, why don’t you.”

He was about to retort, then realised it would probably be the wrong thing to do. “Sorry,” he said. “Do you have any bandage or anything? At least that way your carpet will be out of danger.”

She gave him a grudging smile and a roll of her eyes, then opened a cupboard and took out a first aid kit out of it. She pulled out a bandage and threw it at him. “Thanks,” he muttered and started rolling back his sleeve. The wound was deeper than he realised. He’d definitely have to take care of it later. Meanwhile, all he could do was cover it with the bandage and roll the sleeve back. 

“You know,” she said all of a sudden, “you could probably call the building security.”

“No. I don’t want them to get hurt. Your carpet won’t really be able to take it.”

“They are capable of taking care of themselves,” she said, once again irritated. He didn’t even know how to begin to explain to her that despite his attempt to laugh it off, these were ruthless men with wands, and that the Muggle security were no match for them.

“Can’t take that chance,” he said eventually. Then he opened the door and peeked outside. The corridor was completely deserted. Better leave now, he thought, before they came back. “Look, thanks for everything, really.”

“I should report this,” she said, unsure, and he regretted not having his wand. 

“You can’t. If you report this, they’ll be back.”

“So you say.”

“I can’t stop you from saying anything to anyone. I know that. Just please...” he hesitated, wondering whether he should tell her more, then decided against it. “Please - _don’t_.” With that, he left the office. 

They could be keeping guard at the fire escapes, he knew. There could also be people waiting for him in front of the lifts. In fact, depending on how many Death Eaters there were - and how stupid they were - none of the paths outside of this corridor could be considered safe. He wanted to believe they were too careless to keep watch on all of the exits, but by now he knew that was wishful thinking. They were clever enough to anticipate an attack on the Ministry. That much he would never have imagined. No, he’d need to take every possibility into account. He couldn’t simply dismiss them as ‘working for Malfoy’ -he’d have to start assuming they knew what they were doing.

He walked slowly towards the fire escape. Through the door, he thought he saw someone standing there, waiting. Death Eater. On the other side of the corridor, there were lifts. He stopped just in time to listen up, and considered himself lucky when the lift opened up and he could hear the Death Eaters chat amongst themselves. That won’t do either. He looked through the large windows outside and realised that he could sit and try to wait the Death Eaters out - assuming they won’t get bored and go through that corridor again, or worse, start interrogating Muggles - or he could go out through the window. 

Carefully, slowly, he tested the large glass frame. It opened up a fraction. With some more pressure, it opened up just enough to allow him to squeeze out. But outside there was only the smallest ledge, and no visible hand grips. No other way out... he took a deep breath and climbed out of the window. 

It was only the second floor, that was his only luck. Falling from this height was unlikely to do any real damage - or jumping, for that matter, and it seemed as if he would have to do just that. He would soon draw attention, and once that happened, the Death Eaters wouldn’t be far behind. There was a patch of snow-covered earth beneath him, probably slightly softer than the pavement. “I must be out of my mind,” he said, and half jumped, half rolled towards the grass.

Bang! He tried to hit the grass in the least dangerous way possible, but he still felt every part of his body crashing into the pavement, as if he had just been hit with the Cruciatus curse. He wanted to do nothing more than lie there in the snow and breathe it out, but there was no time. He forced himself to get up, stand up, and start running, before the people who had seen him jump started talking, before even a whiff of his escape had reached the Death Eaters’ ears. 

Now he was facing a much bigger problem. He couldn’t go back inside to pick up his wand. He had no idea where any of the others were, whether they had been caught, or managed to escape - or, perhaps, still fighting it out with the Death Eaters. He couldn’t go to Diagon Alley, not without a wand. He still had the stone in his pocket, but it had already failed him once - not to mention that even if it did work, he couldn’t Apparate without a wand. 

London closed up on him, too dangerous to stay, too dangerous to leave. 

He needed a wand, he needed a place to wait this out, he needed a way to communicate with the others, if at all possible. 

The answer came to him just as he started walking aimlessly towards Hyde Park. He needed to go to Grimmauld Place.

It took him another hour before he made it to the old house. It was there - looking abandoned and neglected. On the bright side, he thought as he pushed the door open, there were no Death Eaters there. 

The dust attacked him as soon as he opened the door, and he sneezed loudly. That seemed enough to wake up Sirius’s mother, who started shouting, and he had to rush in and close the curtains on the picture. Between that and, yes, the old curses Mad-Eye Moody had put on the place, his blood was pumping again and his heart racing. It didn’t feel like a hiding place at all. 

A quick tour, however, proved he was safe there, at least for the moment. The layers and layers of dust everywhere made it clear no one had been inside the house for years. Not even Kreacher, Harry realised with a pang. The old house-elf had died a few years previously in his world. Perhaps it had happened here, too. Perhaps, the idea entered his mind, he died in this very house, and his body - no. He probably stayed at Hogwarts. 

Harry put the house-elf out of his mind and started rummaging the different rooms in search of a wand. He felt the old pang in his heart when he saw Sirius’s name on the door; odd, he thought, as he had come to terms with his godfather’s death a long time ago. It had been years since he felt that way just by looking at the name. He shook his head and started searching again. Sirius’s wand, of course, was with him when he died. So was Regulus’s. But, perhaps, his mother’s or father’s - and, indeed, he ran into an old, forgotten wand in the master bedroom. 

It felt alien and unfriendly. No doubt, as it belonged to a Black who was not Sirius. But all he needed from it was to perform one piece of magic, that was all. He stepped outside of the house, clutching the wand. Then pressed the wand to the stone, muttered the spell again, and spun on the spot. 

He was relieved to be greeted by a mass of people back at the camp. “Harry!” the most familiar voice called, and only at that moment did Harry realise how worried he was. Ron was alive. 

“Ron!” he called and grabbed his friend for a hug.

“We thought you’ve been caught, we thought they got you, we couldn’t find you anywhere!”

“Yeah, I had to shake them off,” he said. 

There were more relieved faces around him - Dean, Anthony, Parvati - Luna, thank god, was there too. “How many people did we lose?” he asked.

“Tom and Krum,” Dean answered. “And Minerva.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. There was nothing more he could say.

Dean nodded. “Not your fault,” he said. “We had to try, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He saw the desperation on their faces, the pain, and he realised he couldn’t just leave it like that, so he continued, “We’ll find a way, alright?”

Dean nodded miserably.

“Alright?” he insisted.

Dean snorted. “Alright,” he said and smiled. The rest of the people around him cheered up too, turning this terrible defeat into hope. We’ll find a way. Now he just had to find it.

**27th December, 2010, 8:56 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

“Are they alright?”

“They’re fine, Harry, really, they’re fine.”

“Why are we going to the hospital wing, then? Why can’t Ron come to us?”

“It’s George, they went straight there when they came back - no, Harry, it’s alright!” she tried to talk some sense into him. He was becoming more and more fidgety by the moment. “Ron’s fine, George’s fine - Dumbledore’s fine, too.”

Still he walked there faster. She just rushed behind him - she knew he wouldn’t calm down until he got there, until he saw everyone was alright.

He stopped awkwardly at the door to the hospital wing. She immediately understood why - the Weasleys were all together, celebrating, as George got out of bed and the hospital gown for the first time in three days and walked between the beds with Fred’s help. He was being released home by Madam Pompfrey, and his entire family was celebrating with him, Ron among them. 

She shouldn’t be hurt, she knew. They didn’t know her. They had never met her. Mrs Weasley had never sent them all Christmas gifts and Easter eggs, she had never spent all that time with them during the holidays. She had never seen them, afterwards, after the war was lost... these people didn’t consider her a part of their family, and it didn’t matter what she felt inside. 

When she glanced at Harry, she recognised that same stricken look on his own face. The Weasleys were the closest thing to a family he ever had, and now he was a stranger to them. She wanted to hold his hand in hers, say that it was okay and that they had each other, but by now she knew better, so she just stood there by his side, watching silently.

Molly was fussing around George, asking whether he was sure he was alright, and that it was perfectly okay if he felt he needed to stay in hospital a bit longer. Arthur seemed a bit lost. Fred kept on bringing up useless suggestions and hide George’s shoes in obvious glee. And Ron just stood there, happy. Happier than she had seen him in so many years. 

Maybe he was right, she hoped for one mad moment. Maybe this was time travel, and their nightmare world was gone, gone to be replaced by this wonderful place, by this magical land where everything was okay and they should stay there, grab the chance with both hands and just make a life in this perfect fairyland, inside the Mirror of Erised. Maybe they didn’t have to stand on the outside looking in anymore.

“Come on,” she said to Harry quietly and walked into the room. 

“Great to see you on your feet,” she told George with a nervous smile. How would he react? But he smiled and laughed and teased her, as if he had known her his whole life. Relief washed over her. This place, it was perfect, after all.

“Well, now we should all go back home,” Molly said at last. “Celebrate the New Year, what do you say?”

“Sounds good to me!” George replied.

“Ron, I haven’t had a chance to fix your room yet, but you could stay with Percy or something...”

“No, Mum, I can’t,” Ron said all of a sudden. The smiles died, together with the noise.

“What do you mean, you can’t? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m not - I’d love to come with you. But Neville... we’ve got to finish this.” He looked now at Hermione, a look she knew so well. He was telling her she was right. No, she wanted to shout. No. I wasn’t. Let’s make this place our home. “We still need to defeat Voldemort.”

“However, we seem to have run into a problem,” Dumbledore spoke for the first time. Hermione hadn’t even realised he was there.

“A problem?” Molly asked with a frown.

“Yes. You see, my dear Molly, I was unable to identify the potion used by Voldemort at the cave.”

“You can’t drink it!” They all jumped - most of them, Hermione knew, didn’t notice Harry at all, didn’t see he was in the room. She simply didn’t expect him to speak. 

“No one is going to drink that potion,” she said irritably.

“I am not sure we have a choice, Ms Granger,” Dumbledore said.

“You can’t drink it,” Harry repeated. “If someone has to drink it, I’ll do that.”

“No.”

“Who else? Who’d do it? Sirius? Remus? My parents? Ron’s family? No.”

“This isn’t our life, Harry, there’s no reason we should sacrifice everything - again! - to protect them.”

“As admirable as this argument is,” Dumbledore interrupted, “we’re not quiet there yet. There is still one thing we could try.”

“What’s that?” Hermione asked, and it was Ron who answered.

“Harry’s memories. Dumbledore reckons he might be able to identify the potion if he could see the effects.”

Dumbledore’s expression hardened for just a moment. Clearly, he did not like the idea of having to be reliant on Harry Potter for anything. But then his expressed softened.

“Mr Potter?” he called. Harry, who had gone back to watch the Weasleys, turned his head and looked at Dumbledore again. “We need the information. About the cave. As Ron said, I believe you are the person to ask about this.”

Harry looked from Ron to Dumbledore, and then to Hermione, looking utterly lost. “I don’t...” he said quietly, then closed his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“You must,” Dumbledore stood up and walked towards him. “This information is vital! If you will do only one thing here, this must be it. We don’t have the time to sit here and research every possible potion Voldemort could have used, Potter! Your friend’s life is at stake!”

“Professor!” Hermione said, and looked at Dumbledore warningly. He was going too far, and she did not like at all the way he mentioned Neville at that particular moment.

“It is the truth, Ms Granger. I am simply impressing on Mr Potter how vital it is he remembers, because without this memory, we can proceed no further.”

“It’s okay, Hermione,” Harry said quietly and closed his eyes. The entire room stared at him, the joy of the Weasley family forgotten. Harry took a deep breath. With a shaking hand, he aimed his wand at his temple, the whispered the incantation. 

The grey material started coming out of his temple. It didn’t look right - memories were gentle, mercurial and silver, neither liquid nor gas. This memory came out in long congealed strands of dark grey material. There was nothing of the subtlety of memories, none of their fast nature and gentle appearance. This memory was damaged, damaged beyond recognition, probably damaged beyond use.

Dumbledore didn’t even wait until Harry finished. “We can’t use the memories like that,” he said curtly, impatience in his voice and all over his face. “This won’t do any good.”

Harry stopped, and looked at the ugly, dark material coming out of his mind. “I don’t know how to make it better.”

“Professor,” Hermione said testily, “can’t we clear it up?”

“No.” Dumbledore looked at the memory in distaste, and Hermione’s heart sank as she realised he gave the same look to Harry. “When it’s damaged this badly, you can’t really do anything with it.”

“May I have a word?” she asked, trying to remain calm. Before waiting for an answer, she stepped aside, towards the far end of the hospital, not checking whether the headmaster was following her. Dumbledore didn’t disappoint, though. When she finally turned around, he was there. “You have shown nothing but contempt towards Harry since the moment we’ve got here - no, _you listen to me, Headmaster_!,” she refused to allow him to interrupt. “You think he doesn’t see this? You think he doesn’t understand? He’s nervous enough as it is, he’s doing bad enough as it is, and his magic is all shot to hell - as it is. Your attitude is not helping. Now, we know that the memory - the intact memory - is still there somewhere, with all the information we need. Harry just needs to relax enough in order to be able to access it properly. Stop stressing him, stop dismissing him, and maybe try to earn a bit of his trust! That’s the only way we’d know what went on there.”

Hermione was afraid Professor Dumbledore would get angry, or dismissive, but stood her ground, staring at the old man. And he proved that, while not being exactly the man she remembered, he was still Albus Dumbledore. He was silent for a long time, and she knew he was considering her words. “You’re right,” he said finally. “Of course you are. I’m sorry. That was... uncalled for.”

“Thank you.”

They went back to the group. Harry, she noticed, had been watching them nervously all that time. Dumbledore, however, did not press Harry to try again. Instead, he walked towards the cabinet that held various bottles, full of potions, and mixed some together in a small cup. The resulting liquid was bright green and bubbly, but did not look harmful.

“Please sit on one of the beds, Mr Potter, and drink this,” he offered Harry the cup. “It will help.”

Harry looked at the cup suspiciously.

“Trust me,” said Albus Dumbledore. Harry didn’t move.

“Please, Harry,” Hermione said now. 

Harry looked at her, then took the cup with shaking hands. He sat on the bed next to George’s and drank to the last drop.

“Now lie back,” the Headmaster said. “Close your eyes.” 

Harry did as he was told, but Hermione could see his tense muscles, the locked jaw, the almost frozen posture, half sitting, half lying down. And Dumbledore, seeing them as well, took a hand and pressed Harry’s shoulder down gently. This was a bad idea - Hermione could have told him that. Immediately, Harry started struggling, thrashing about madly, his breath shallow and laboured. Dumbledore didn’t let go. With surprising strength, he kept on pressing Harry down. “Trust me,” he repeated, but Harry either did not hear, or could not stop. “Trust me,” Dumbledore murmured again.

Slowly, Harry stopped struggling, but was still shaking violently, his muscles locked and tense. Apparently satisfied, Dumbledore drew his wand, and started muttering a string of incantations that sounded more like a melody than magic. It took a while before Hermione saw the change, but with time, she could see it, could see that Harry had stopped struggling, could see his muscles unclenching. One by one, the lines on his face disappeared, as tension was replaced by serenity. His breathing became slower, deeper. On and on Dumbledore continued, and on and on Harry relaxed, until he was sleeping, deep into sweet sleep that he did not experience for years. Hermione expected Dumbledore to stop now, to take the memory, but he didn’t. He kept on muttering the incantations, even when it seemed there was no point - Hermione could not see any change anymore, but Dumbledore still was not satisfied. Finally, after long minutes, he was content, and fell silent. The Elder Wand was once again aimed at Harry, but this time it was drawing long thick strands of silvery memory - intact, correct - out of his mind and into the glass phial.

At last, he had the memory, and with that, Dumbledore turned away from the hospital bed and left the room - undoubtedly to his office, to study Harry’s memories. Behind him, Harry was lying down on the bed, deep into sleep and with a small, content smile on his lips.

**28th December, 2010, 4:48 a.m. X removed to S’:**

“You’re not sleeping again.”

Harry snorted. “Thought you were asleep,” he answered to Ron.

“And I thought _you_ were asleep,” Ron retorted.

“Yeah...”

He was playing again with the stone. Up and down, up and down, he threw the little device in the air, then caught it again. 

“I asked Ab about it,” Ron said. “The stone. He said it didn’t work because you have to activate it immediately before you use it. Can’t do it in advance.”

“Yeah.”

Up and down, up and down.

“It wasn’t your fault Minerva died,” Ron said. “She knew what she was getting into. We all did. She chose to join. At least she died free, you know? Not in Azkaban.”

“She’d still be alive if she were in Azkaban.”

“Yeah, alive, surrounded by Dementors. What kind of a life is that?”

Harry shrugged and kept on playing with the stone. Up and down it went, up and down.

“It’s your nightmares again, isn’t it?” Ron asked all of a sudden. “That’s why you’re not sleeping. I haven’t seen you like this for years.”

“This whole place is a nightmare.” He threw the stone back into his pocket and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know what to do, Ron. I don’t know how to get us out of this mess.”

“We’ll find a way.”

“How? We can’t even start figuring out what’s going on without access to the Ministry. With their resources, with the Department of Mysteries - then, maybe, we could figure it out. We can’t get there. I mean, this time it was Minerva and Krum and Tom, what happens next time?”

“We’ll find a way,” Ron repeated, sounding much more confident than he had a right to be, Harry thought. “Isn’t that what you told them earlier? Dean and Luna and that lot?”

“Yeah, I was lying. Trying to buy some time,” Harry answered grimly. 

“We’ll find a way,” Ron said again. When Harry didn’t answer, he continued. “Hey, we _will_ find a way. We always have. We defeated Voldemort, didn’t we? Well - you did,” he amended, and Harry laughed.

“You did, too,” he said, and laughed again when Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

“Yeah, I did. We did. What’s _Draco Malfoy_ compared to Voldemort? ‘Sides, Hermione and Ginny will never forgive us if we’re not back.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. He thought about them, now that he couldn’t sleep. The dark-haired four-year-old James, who already heard from his grandmother that he’s too much like his Uncle George a thousand times; Al, with his green eyes just like Harry’s, was just starting to speak properly; and Lily, who was the most wonderful baby girl in the entire universe, and already Harry could tell would look exactly like Ginny even though she was only a few months old. Ginny... he closed his eyes. The thought of never seeing her again, of being stuck in this nightmare of a world where she was dead, where they had never got married, was too awful to consider. The thought that his children would grow up without a father, like he did, was simply unacceptable. “Yeah,” he said again, a lot louder. “We’ll be back.”

“Exactly,” Ron gave him a lopsided smile. Harry knew him for so long, he knew that Ron was thinking the exact same thing as he did, thinking of Hermione, of Rose, and of his unborn son. Thinking of his family, and what had happened to them here. They both needed to believe there was a way out.

“We just need to figure something out,” Harry said.

“You know,” Ron said, sounding slightly worried again, “Ab had an idea.”

“Oh?”

“He said a part of our problem now is that we don’t have any stronghold in the wizarding world. I think I agree. As long as we’re on the run, there’s only so much we could do.”

“Every time we venture into London a disaster happens. We can’t attack the Ministry again.”

“That’s not what he was suggesting.” Ron hesitated for a moment. When Harry didn’t argue, he continued. “He thought maybe we should take over something simpler.”

“Like?”

“The Hog’s Head.”

“The Hog’s - he just wants his pub back!” Harry protested in exasperation.

“Maybe, but he has some good arguments about it.”

“Such as?!”

“First, there’s gotta be enough food and drink in that place to last us a while, unless the new owner is completely incompetent. Second, it’s in Hogsmeade. We get there, we can take over Hogsmeade.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Harry protested again - what else could he do? “That’s a huge leap, from one mangy old pub to the whole village.”

“Not necessarily - it gives us a base of operations inside the village. We don’t have to start running like we did with the Ministry, we attack one place and if things go bad, we just fall back to the pub. We can set proper defence there. And if things don’t go bad - look,” he waved his wand and conjured up a map of the village. “The pub’s here, right at the edge of the village, right?” he marked the spot with his wand. “We can take over small portions of the village, one at a time. And that far from the Ministry, we’re bound to have some support. I talked to Parvati, she says they lived there for a while. She says most people there don’t support the Death Eaters. If we go there and offer them an alternative, we would probably find more people willing to fight - hell, we might not have to fight most of the village at all.”

Harry looked at the map. He didn’t feel elated, or encouraged, nor did he feel any of the excitement Ron showed. “Ron, I’m an Auror. I know how to do small-scale attacks on suspicious elements that are usually a lot less organised than we are. What you’re talking about here, that’s - that’s _war_.”

“That’s what you said, wasn’t it?” Ron smirked. “We’ve got an army?”

“Ron - I don’t know how to fight wars! That’s insane!”

“Yeah, and you didn’t know how to find Horcruxes, either,” Ron pointed out, still a lot less worried than Harry expected him to be. “And you didn’t know how to fight Death Eaters, or kill Voldemort - ”

“ - I didn’t kill Voldemort, his own stupidity did - ”

“Or any of that other stuff you did,” Ron pointedly ignored him. “You know what’s important - you know how to get them to trust you. How to organise them. How to motivate them - and don’t say otherwise, I’ve seen you doing these things for too long to believe any of your fake modesty, alright? You did that already when we were fifteen. You’ve been doing it with the Aurors for ages - Harry, Kingsley didn’t give you the job because of your name. These are the things we need. Not someone who understands strategy and stuff, not when we don’t have any soldiers to go with them anyway.”

Harry still looked at the map in doubt. “Look, Ron, I don’t think - ”

“No, you look,” Ron interrupted, again refusing to let Harry even finish his sentence. “I’ve watched you with them, just like I’ve watched you with our lot for years. You know how to do this. And Ab’s idea has the right ring to it, and I think it could work, and I think you think it could work, too, and I’d really appreciate it if you stopped doubting yourself so we could start _winning_ this thing, alright?”

“Alright,” Harry sighed. He really didn’t have anything better to say. “Fine. Okay. Let’s do it,” he called in mock enthusiasm. “To the glorious battle for the Hog’s Head!”

Ron chose to ignore his sarcasm and simply said, “That’s more like it.”

**28th December, 2010, 5:03 a.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

Hermione dreamed. She dreamed of the day they _almost_ destroyed Voldemort. She dreamed of the Chamber of Secrets, where the skeleton of a huge snake could be found. She dreamed of house-elves and giants and spiders. She dreamed of that time all those years ago, that one particular hour during the Battle of Hogwarts. Ron had been looking for Harry, they couldn’t find him anywhere, and he kept on talking, he said, ‘He can’t have gone there, he can’t have, he’s somewhere here, we just need to find him,’ and they searched everywhere in the castle, and then they heard it, his voice magnified, as if he was right there next to them. ‘Harry Potter is dead,’ he said, and she was fighting, fighting, until that moment Ron had grabbed her arm and Apparated the both of them out of there.

Her eyes opened. She didn’t move. She had been awake for a while now, she thought, trapped between dream and memory. It was dark all around her, and she felt cold, even though she was wrapped inside a blanket, and Ron’s warm arm was wrapped around her.

He stirred; she felt his hand move, then starting to stroke her, her shoulder, her hand. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. 

She didn’t quite find the words, so she said nothing. The chill was now in her bones, inside her. She started shaking. His arm gripped her tightly, and now she could feel his warm breath right above her shoulder. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered again and kissed her neck. 

“What time is it?” she whispered after a while.

“Can’t be too late,” he answered, which was no answer at all. After another moment - “Oh, alright,” he rolled - his arm still wrapped around her, but now her back was exposed to the cold air and she started shivering again. He returned there soon enough, the warmth of his body and the warmth of the blanket protecting her, but she still shivered. “It’s five a.m.,” he said. She sat up.

“What’s up?” he asked, and when she didn’t answer, he asked again, “Bad dream?”

“Yeah.”

He sat up as well. “You okay?” he asked, sounding worried. Of course he’d be - she was still shaking.

“Fine,” she said. Even though she wasn’t.

“Hey,” he whispered, then smiled at her. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be alright. Dumbledore probably already figured something out, and we’d defeat Voldemort again, and everything will work out.”

“Since when are you the optimist?” she demanded. 

“It’s this place,” he said. “You can’t help but be an optimist round here.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t feel too optimistic herself lately. He drew himself closer to her, but instead of reciprocating, she got up. He gave her an exasperated look. “What do you think you’ll find there at this hour?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she confessed. He buried his face in the pillow. “Go back to sleep,” she repeated his own words to him. He didn’t reply.

She dressed up quickly and gave him one last look, before she left the warmth of the room to the draughty Hogwarts corridors. 

She wasn’t quite sure where she was going. Her first intention was to go to Dumbledore’s office, to see the Headmaster, demand answers from him, or just learn of whatever progress he had achieved during the night. Instead, her legs took her to the hospital wing. Maybe it was for the best, she thought when she realised where it was she was going. She’d take a look at Harry, make sure he was doing alright before she visited Dumbledore.

She expected that this early in the morning, the hospital wing would be completely deserted. To her surprise, someone was already there: Dumbledore, sitting next to Harry, who - to her even greater surprise - was sprawled on his back, fast asleep, and even slightly snoring. In a far corner, a potion simmered above a low fire. 

“Is that - “ she asked, whispering. Dumbledore looked up. Until that moment, he had been looking at Harry, deep in thoughts.

“Good morning, Ms Granger,” he said pleasantly. 

“Good morning, Professor,” she answered. “Is that the antidote? for the potion?”

He nodded. “Not quite an antidote, I’m afraid. Lord Voldemort knows much of the darker aspects of our craft,” he wrinkled his nose in disgust. “But used cautiously and with complementary treatment, it should stop the potion from being lethal. Indeed, it could work like an antidote - of sorts. I have just finished brewing it,” he said, and the fire under the potion was immediately put out, all by itself.

“Good,” Hermione said. Dumbledore turned back to Harry. “Has he been sleeping all night long?” she asked.

“He almost woke up some hours ago, but seemed to decide sleeping was a better option,” Dumbledore said lightly, even if there was some heaviness in his face. 

Hermione sat down next to him. “He doesn’t sleep anymore, you know. He’d push it as far as he can. Two days, sometimes even three. He falls asleep only when he can’t stay awake anymore, and even then, he wakes up after only a few hours, screaming.”

Professor Dumbledore didn’t answer. Instead, he just watched the sleeping man quietly.

“I’m glad you managed to get the information from his memories, though,” Hermione said, mainly to break the silence.

“There’s a problem with watching someone else’s memories,” Dumbledore answered. “Sometimes you see more than you bargained for.” He stretched a hand and gently touched the old scar on Harry’s forehead. Harry stirred, and Dumbledore immediately withdrew his hand, but Harry was already blinking slowly. He didn’t freeze or tense, and neither did random glass objects start shattering around them. For the first time since Hermione could remember, Harry Potter was waking up peacefully. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he answered, his voice still heavy with sleep, and blinked some more.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, unable to hide her anxiety. 

He sat up immediately, alert and awake. “Better,” he said, and his voice sounded full of surprise. He moved his head this way and that, flexed his fingers a couple of times, then carefully rubbed the lightning-bolt scar. “Better,” he said again, much more assured, and shot Hermione a smile before focusing on Dumbledore. “Thank you,” he said. 

“It’s only temporary, I’m afraid,” Professor Dumbledore said heavily. “A more permanent solution is beyond my magic.”

“Still,” Harry said. “Thank you.”

Dumbledore just nodded.

“Hey, look at you,” Harry fixed his eyes on Hermione all of a sudden. “Have you been crying?”

“I’m fine, Harry,” she said, and knew that her voice was betraying just how tired she was. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” he said, and then, to her surprise, sent his hand to trace the a line, from her eyes to her cheek, what must have been tear tracks, she realised too late. “But we’re all going to be fine, alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, without much conviction.

He looked at her critically. “You need a good breakfast,” he said. With a flick of his wand, a plate appeared, filled with the best Hogwarts had to offer for breakfast.

“Haven’t seen that in a while,” she couldn’t help but say.

“What? Toast and eggs?”

“No - you.”

He studied his wand. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s easier now. Well, as the good Headmaster said, it won’t last forever, so I figure I better enjoy it while I can, no?”

He said it with a smile, as if it was simply light hearted banter, but she couldn’t keep the smile on her face at the sound of the words, couldn’t keep the humour about it. He noticed it immediately. 

“Hey,” he said, now more seriously, “Hermione, it’s okay. I’m not going to sit here and waste however long I’ve got being miserable. I don’t want you to be miserable, either, okay?”

She nodded, and he hugged her. It felt strange. The last time Harry had hugged her... must have been more than a dozen years ago. She held on to him for just a moment too long, but he didn’t make any attempt to free himself from her embrace.

“That’s better,” he said once she let him go. “Now, breakfast.” He took a piece of toast and started putting a generous amount of strawberry jam on it. She dipped her own toast in eggs.

Banter became easier as they filled their stomachs with Hogwarts’ good food. She found herself talking about their days at Hogwarts again, and then Harry remembered one particular good meal during Hallowe’en and waxed on about it, both to her and to Dumbledore. He was talking about some breakfast before a Quidditch match when Ron joined them, looking harassed and worried and with dark bags under his eyes.

“Good morning,” Harry stopped his story to greet Ron, who sat down next to them. Ron eyed him strangely, and Hermione stifled a giggle.

“Good morning,” Ron said even more suspiciously.

Harry flicked his wand again, and made the kettle pour three cups of coffee. Ron looked at him, amazed. “D’you like coffee too, Professor?” Harry asked Dumbledore pleasantly.

“I think I’ll take tea, thank you,” Dumbledore answered, and with another wave of Harry’s wand, a tea cup made its way towards him.

Ron eyed Harry even more strangely now, but soon Harry cracked a joke, and Ron couldn’t help but comment, and all of a sudden it was as if the past twelve years had never happened. Here they were, sitting and eating breakfast at Hogwarts, having fun.

More people joined them, as time passed by - Lily and Snape, Sirius and Remus, even James Potter. They all stared at Harry when they walked in, but soon couldn’t help but be drawn into the conversation. 

When they all finished eating their breakfast, when all the plates were cleaned and sent back to the kitchens, only then did Dumbledore cough politely. 

“So,” Hermione asked him brightly, “what now?”

“That would depend,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Are you still interested in helping, Mr Potter?”

All of Hermione’s cheerfulness had left her in one second, to be replaced with dread. “What? No!” she looked at Dumbledore in shock. “But you agreed with us! You said he can’t be sent there!”

“I do believe, Ms Granger, that it was you who told me time and again that I am underestimating Mr Potter,” he told her gravely. “I am now inclined to agree with you. I was underestimating him - and terribly so. No more, though. Now I am fully aware of his abilities and determination. If Mr Potter wishes to volunteer for this daunting task, I will not stop him.”

“I want to do this,” Harry said immediately.

“Harry,” she turned to him, trying to plead with him, “you can’t, it’s too dangerous, it’s -”

“There’s no one else, Hermione. Dumbledore can’t - they need him. Think what it would have been like. For us. If Dumbledore had survived the cave. And there’s the potion now, there’s a good chance I’ll make it,” he smiled reassuringly, but she wasn’t fooled. 

“Harry,” she tried, her voice trembling, “your life is worth more than that. Don’t throw it away.”

“I’m not. Honestly, Hermione, I’m not. I don’t think Dumbledore would have let me if there wasn’t a good chance to get out of this alive. I need to do this. This feels like -” he took a deep breath and looked around. “I feel like I just woke up. Like the past - I don’t even know. Like it’s all been one terrible dream, ever since the forest. I’m feeling alive, Hermione!” He jumped on his feet. “But you heard what Dumbledore said. It’s not going to last. I need to do some good, before it gets all confusing again.”

“There are other ways,” she whispered, but she knew she had lost the argument. Without Dumbledore’s support, there was no way to stop Harry. She watched Harry as he grabbed the potion that had finished brewing in the corner, and drank it all. From that point, there was no going back - it will take another night to brew more potion. By drinking it, Harry made sure he was the only one who could volunteer.

Ron and Hermione insisted on coming with them. Harry didn’t want them to come, but she made it clear that, at least about that, he had no say. He gave in, at last. “I don’t know how this will end,” he said in one last attempt. “I don’t want you to...” he searched for the right word. “I don’t want you to worry.”

“We’re going to worry, whether we’re there or not,” she said, and that was the end of it. 

They took Sirius with them, too - Sirius and Kreacher, Dumbledore and Harry, and Ron and herself. Such an entourage, she thought bitterly. Harry insisted on Kreacher. She knew why. When they were there, at the foot of the lake, Sirius told the house-elf to look after Harry. But Harry added, “Your first priority is to get the locket, and to make sure it is safe. I don’t know what I will say when I’m drinking that potion, but you have to promise me, whatever happens, whatever I say, you make me drink the whole damn thing. Is that understood?”

Kreacher looked again at Sirius, who nodded reluctantly, confirming this command came from him too. He looked sullen and angry as he did so, almost as sullen as Kreacher himself.

“Understood, Harry Potter,” Kreacher said sulkily. 

Now, Harry lowered his voice. “After I finish drinking the potion, I probably won’t be able to pick up the locket. You must take it, and you must first bring it back to Sirius. Only then go back for me. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Harry Potter,” Kreacher said again.

Sirius didn’t seem very happy with that arrangement. For a moment, it looked as if he was going to say something to Kreacher - or to Harry. To everyone’s surprise, it was Dumbledore who put his hand on Sirius’s arm, and shook his head.

“It is a cruel way of thinking,” he said gently, “putting the aim of the mission before the lives of those who volunteer to take it. But at times, it is the only way. Are you ready, Harry?”

Harry nodded slowly, then gave a nervous laughter. “The last time I’ve been to this place... well, let’s just hope this time things end better, shall we?” he said, then took a deep breath. “I’m ready,” he said in a clear voice, trying to convince himself more than anything. In response, Dumbledore pulled an invisible chain, bringing up a small boat. Harry and Kreacher climbed into it, and it set sail towards the centre of the lake.

It was hard to see what was going on there from the banks of the lake, and it was harder still with the nervousness that engulfed them all. Sirius prowled nervously back and forth. Ron and Hermione just stared in silence. After a while, Hermione could barely see anymore. Her eyes were clouded by tears.

No, she insisted to herself. I will see this through. She sniffed once, twice, then wiped her eyes, much like Harry had done only a few hours ago. She could see the boat now, sailing, then stopping, then movement - then nothing.

“What’s going on there, Dumbledore?” Sirius asked the words Hermione and Ron could not get out of their mouthes.

“I do believe Harry is about to drink his first mouthful of the potion,” Dumbledore said in a voice that was almost light. Almost, because, after all these years, even Hermione could recognise how worried he was. It was not as easy to sacrifice others as Dumbledore pretended.

“Will he be alright?” 

“I hope so, Sirius,” Dumbledore answered. “I hope so.” Perhaps she imagined that he looked at her as he said those words. 

The taller of the two figures on the rock fell. Ron jumped, but Dumbledore stopped him. “No, Ron. Kreacher is there. He knows what to do.”

“Yeah - keep on feeding him that thing!” Ron said, and, as if to confirm, they could see the elf, in what seemed like a struggle, forcing the man to lie still. “It’s killing him!”

“He knew the risks, Ron! He volunteered,” Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled dangerously. “We shall respect his wishes.”

On and on, the smaller figure went between the rocks, long after they could no longer tell where Harry was. They couldn’t see, they couldn’t hear, all they could do was stand there and wait in silence.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Sirius muttered to himself.

At last, something was happening. Kreacher stopped moving, and instead, just stood in the middle of the rocks. 

“Is it - did they -” before Sirius managed to articulate a question, there was a loud ‘pop’, and Kreacher appeared next to them. In his hand there was a heavy golden locket. 

“Master Sirius,” he said, and presented him with the locket. 

Sirius snatched it, and then turned back to Kreacher. “Help him,” he gave the order. Kreacher bowed and disappeared with another ‘pop’, and they could see him at the centre of the small island again. He crouched low and disappeared between the rocks for a moment, and then reappeared, carrying something much bigger and heavier than himself. 

But nothing happened - there was no ‘pop’, no one appeared in front of them.

“Dumbledore!” Sirius called, and he could see that even Dumbledore looked worried now.

“He is unable to Apparate them both,” Dumbledore said quietly. 

Finally, it looked as if the Elf had decided on his next course of action. The two figures moved back towards the boat. The smaller one - Kreacher - stood for a moment, clueless, then pushed the bigger one - Harry - into the small boat, and jumped in after him. Hermione watched in silent terror as the little boat progressed over the lake, like a ghost ship.

The boat’s journey back took forever. Hermione could do nothing but stare as the boat got bigger and bigger in front of their eyes in painfully slow motion. After what felt like a short eternity, the boat collided gently with the earth. Hermione and Ron jumped towards it, but Dumbledore was faster. He grabbed the boat, pulled it onto the bank, and called them to help him get Harry out.

Harry wasn’t moving. For one terrible, terrible moment, Hermione thought he wasn’t breathing. Perhaps Dumbledore had got the potion wrong. Perhaps Voldemort had foreseen such an intrusion. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps... 

She wasn’t the only one to be worried. Dumbledore was worried, too - she could see him fumbling for a pulse at the neck.

“He’s still alive,” he whispered in relief after a moment. “But his heart is faint.”

In surprising agility and gentleness, Dumbledore dragged Harry and sat him up on the cave’s wall. He tapped his wand at him, whispering incantation after incantation, much like he had done the night before. Harry, however, didn’t stir, and unlike last night, he didn’t relax, either. His face was frozen in an expression of terror so great that Hermione would not have been surprised to hear that it had killed him.

“Harry,” Dumbledore whispered now. “Harry,” he shook him gently. “Harry.”

At the third mention of his name, Harry groaned. His mouth opened slightly, and although his eyes were still firmly shut, that was all Dumbledore needed. He removed a flask from his robes, a flask with another potion, that ‘complimentary treatment’ he had mentioned before, and tipped it down Harry’s throat, every last bit. 

Harry groaned again, and started shaking violently.

“Help me carry him,” Dumbledore ordered them. “We need to get him back to Hogwarts.” 

“No.” They all jumped - it was Harry. His voice was hoarse and the words came out with obvious difficulty. “Professor...”

“I’m here, Harry, I’m here,” Dumbledore said softly.

“Don’t worry, sir, don’t worry, I’ll get us back... lean on me, sir...” Harry muttered. Dumbledore looked at him in a confused expression.

“Harry,” he said again, but Harry just kept on muttering. “It’s going to be all right, sir,” they could hear him say, his voice becoming weaker and weaker. “We’re nearly there... I can Apparate us both back... don’t worry.”

Realisation dawned on Dumbledore. “I am not worried, Harry,” he whispered. “I am with you.”

Those words finally pacified Harry. Sirius hauled him up and carried him through the mouth of the cave, through swimming in the ice-cold water, and into the spot where they could all Apparate out. The rest of them followed.

They appeared again at the great gates of Hogwarts. Dumbledore quickly flicked his wand, levitating Harry’s unresponsive body and sending him towards the hospital wing, the rest of them rushing behind. They were unsurprised to discover that all of the members of their little conspiracy, as Remus had called it, were still there. They were all worried as they looked up at the newcomers, but none of them opened their mouth to speak. 

Dumbledore didn’t stop to explain. He put Harry on one of the beds, then started saying one incantation after the other. Ron and Hermione still hovered behind him, but didn’t say a word. 

Harry’s breathing became less laboured with time. He did not look the way he did the night before or just that morning, under the influence of the potion and Dumbledore’s spells. His face was contorted, his knuckles white, and he was shivering slightly. But still, he was asleep.

Dumbledore stopped saying the spells, and sat down quietly besides the bed.

“Will he be alright?” Ron asked finally, after a few moments of silence.

“He will live,” Dumbledore said shortly. For some reason, it didn’t sound reassuring at all. “I’m afraid, however, that the positive influence of last night’s potion will have gone by the time he wakes up.”

“Can’t you give him - ”

Dumbledore shook his head. “It is a highly toxic material, Ms Granger. He won’t be able to take any more of it for a very long time. And the more he takes of it, the larger the dose he would need. No, it was only ever a temporary solution, and now I have robbed him of its temporary relief, too.”

They looked at each other in silence. Dumbledore’s voice was full of disgust - with himself, she knew. But she couldn’t be angry with him, couldn’t blame him, as much as she wanted to. She couldn’t help but remember the way Harry had insisted on doing this, with his mind clear for the first time in years.

“He wanted to go,” she said quietly. 

“You were not so keen on allowing him his choice before, Ms Granger,” Dumbledore said.

“I’m still not happy, if that’s what you mean. But it’s like you said - it was his choice to make. And he made it. It isn’t your fault.”

Dumbledore didn’t answer. He just looked at the sleeping figure. In his sleep, Harry shivered all of a sudden, crying out in pain. Dumbledore’s hand hovered a moment above Harry’s head, as if he wanted to straighten the hair on the sweaty forehead, but then, perhaps remembering Harry’s earlier reactions, he withdrew it. Hermione had the suspicion that Dumbledore still thought it was his fault, in some way.

After a moment longer, Dumbledore left the bedside chair, and removed an object from his pocket - the locket. 

“Is it the real one?” Ron asked. There was no eagerness in his voice, no passion. Just resignation. 

Dumbledore handed him the locket. “You would know better than me, Ron,” he said. Ron took it in his hand and studied it in silence.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah, I can feel it. Like a heart beating inside. It’s the Horcrux. The real one.” 

“Come then,” Dumbledore got up, took back the Horcrux and walked to the door. “It is time we allowed Mr Potter some rest. Let us go to my office.”


	6. The Glorious Battle for the Hog's Head

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter is 50% of the reason for the Mature rating (the other 50% is chapter 9) and contains torture, language and darker-than-usual themes.

**28th December, 2010, 11:47 a.m. X removed to S’:**

They walked slowly on the small path, which was covered in ice and snow. It was almost noon, but the temperatures were well below zero. They could see their breath, spiralling in white mists in front of their faces. It didn’t help that the path was rocky and hard. 

Just what we need, Harry thought gloomily. Someone to fall and break their neck before we ever made it to Hogsmeade. 

Approaching Hogsmeade was easier than London. The Ministry did not place the same restrictions on the village as it did the much-busy city. Perhaps they thought that any action would target London, rather than the small, pastoral Scottish village. Perhaps they were right. But their opponents were just desperate enough to try and make this work. 

They Apparated, one by one, to the old cave where Sirius had once hidden himself. Luna told them that this was the place they all escaped to once Malfoy took over. After a small survey of the cave - some old dirty clothes in one corner, old canned food in another, and a strong smell of dampness and still water - Harry walked out to the road, the rest of the group behind him. They were fifteen people this time. To his great surprise, everyone who had survived the Ministry insisted on coming to Hogsmeade, too. 

He didn’t expect them to. When he explained the plan Ron and he came up with the night before, he fully expected accusatory looks and disbelief. He fully expected them to remind him he had already led them to one ambush. They would have been only right to say so. He didn’t even try to hide it from them. “This isn’t another excursion on the Ministry, guys,” he said sombrely. “And I’ll be honest - I don’t think it would make it better. If we start this... we don’t know where it will end. We don’t know that we can end it.”

“You’re talking about taking control over the one wizard-only settlement in Britain,” Anthony said simply. “The Ministry won’t let it pass, even if we do succeed. This means war.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” Dean said, “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Padma joined in, and after a short nudge, so did Parvati. 

“Yeah,” Luna smiled. “Time we fought back. Really fought back.”

Anthony was the last to speak, but even he agreed in the end. “Count me in, too,” he said.

A part of Harry felt he should be worried: worried at how easy it was to convince them, much easier than it was for Ron to convince him; worried that they did not hold the failure in the Ministry against him; worried that the idea of war did not seem to scare them half as much as it scared him. But that part was vetoed by the rest of him, which pointed out they knew what they were getting into. Much better than he did, in fact. Perhaps what he should have been worried about was why he was so willing to go through with it. And now it was too late to turn back.

On the road to Hogsmeade, he grabbed Andromeda before she slipped on the ice. “Whoa, careful.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She was very much like he remembered her, years and years ago. Cold, haughty, still very much _Black_ , so similar to her sisters. They’ve grown to know each other quite well over the years, of course - she was raising Teddy and Harry was practically a family member at his godson’s house. These days, they got along very well. They even liked each other - most of the time. But at the beginning she was very cold, very formal, and never quite seemed to know how to accept him in her life. 

“How long have you been in Azkaban?” he asked quietly. What he really wanted to ask was where was Teddy in this nightmare of a world. But he didn’t think that would be the best question to ask. He was afraid of the answer, as much as he was afraid of her reaction.

“Two years,” she said curtly. Her voice was cold, unfriendly, uninviting of more questions. He ignored it.

“What happened? I mean, you lasted that long...”

“Same as Aberforth.” Harry shot a look at Aberforth Dumbledore, who was walking forward, leading the small group towards his pub. “We were allowed our freedom when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was in control. It was my status as a pure-blood and a Black that saved me, despite my marriage. For Aberforth, I presume it was his willingness to let any scum into his pub, as long as they were paying.” She didn’t sound as if she approved of Ab much.

“Then what happened?” he asked.

“Voldemort fell, Potter, and Malfoy took his place. And Malfoy has different ideas about what consists a danger to his reign. They rounded up all of us and sent us to Azkaban - rather at the same time as he destroyed the camps. This was all a camp here, a few years ago,” she gestured around them, at the snow-covered earth. “For all those people Voldemort had deemed unworthy of magic.” Her head jerked lightly towards Dean. Harry remembered Dean’s reaction their first night in this place. 

“So Malfoy let the Muggle-borns go?” 

“No, Potter,” she said bitterly. “He didn’t let anyone go.”

Harry froze in place. She couldn’t possibly mean - 

“I reckon Thomas and Granger are the only Muggle-borns still alive in the whole of Britain,” she said, confirming his worst fears. “Wherever it is Granger is.”

His mind wandered briefly to the Creeveys, to Justin Finch-Fletchley... “Malfoy did that?” he whispered. He thought of the coldness in the eyes of the man he had met here, the man who had tortured him with a smirk on his face. But could he actually do that? The Malfoy he knew, for all his many, _many_ shortcomings, was not a killer.

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” she now sounded almost amused. “He used this lot to get rid of Voldemort. Fed them information for years.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense - if he was on their side - ”

“Did I say he was on their side? The only thing they had in common was their will to get rid of Voldemort,” she said. “If anything, it was because they had worked together that Malfoy realised what a danger they could pose to him. So he did everything he could to... discourage them, shall we say? From fighting against him. He destroyed whatever little we had left of our world, whatever little Voldemort had been willing to let us keep,” her voice was now full of bitterness. “He killed the Weasleys - Voldemort had kept them alive, trying to stop Ron, or perhaps because they were pure-blood, I don’t know. My dear nephew didn’t care. He killed them all. Killed anyone who could help Granger and Weasley form a power base, all the Muggle-borns and sympathisers. He left them completely alone.”

Harry stared at the snow, seeing nothing. He couldn’t quite understand what she was saying. He wasn’t determined to defeat Malfoy just in order to get home anymore. He was determined to defeat Malfoy now because these people deserved it.

He knew now that he had been wrong before. It wasn’t a nightmare, this world. It was hell. 

“What happened to Teddy?” he asked after a while. The answer couldn’t possibly be worse than what he had already heard.

But as he looked at Andromeda, he was forced to change his mind. For the first time in the past coupe of days, the first time since he had seen her here, she wasn’t bitter or cold or angry. She looked heartbroken. “Voldemort took care of him,” she said quietly. “He wasn’t even a year old, and they took him away. Part werewolf, you see.”

Harry thought of Teddy as he had last seen him, getting off the Hogwarts Express and talking incessantly about the odd Christmas decorations that had been put up by Hagrid and how much he hated History of Magic and why did they have to study it in the first place and how he was going to convince Andromeda to get him a new broom and maybe he would make it into the Quidditch team next year. 

“He’s a great kid,” he said quietly. He hoped the words served some comfort to her, rather than make things worse. He couldn’t tell anymore - her jaw was set, the coldness was back into her eyes, and she looked as haughty as ever. She wasn’t one to want words of condolences, even if she needed them.

By now they had almost reached the village. Harry could see the outline of the pub, in front of them and growing larger. He rushed forward, to catch up with Ab. 

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s suspecting,” he said.

“Doesn’t look like anyone’s taking care of it,” Aberforth grumbled. Harry smiled despite himself. 

The current owner of the Hog’s Head was none other than Gregory Goyle. Harry probably should not have been surprised - Goyle had been a friend of Malfoy’s since before Hogwarts, and it only stood to reason he had some favours with the current administration. Once Ab was arrested, when Malfoy took over, and his pub was seized by the Ministry, it was fair game to be given to anyone Malfoy pleased. Harry knew all this before. And still, the idea of Gregory Goyle owning the Hog’s Head was enraging. All of a sudden, Harry was not so sure they would have plenty of food and drink there. At least, he thought, they could definitely count on Goyle’s stupidity and their plan would work.

They had planned their attack before Apparating to the village. The pub had a back door, one that faced the same path they were now walking, and with any luck, they could enter the pub without alerting a single soul. 

Ab held them back for a moment as he turned his wand to the back door. After a moment, he smiled and whispered an incantation. It wasn’t _Alohomora_. It wasn’t any spell Harry knew. But whatever it was, it worked - the door opened quietly.

“My own little charm. Apparently Goyle never even tried to open this door,” Ab muttered. 

They tiptoed one after the other into the pub. It was a large pantry - large and cold and empty. Ab was the last to enter, and closed the door behind them. 

“Straight ahead there,” he whispered, “goes into a room behind the bar. Should give us a good look around.”

Most of their little group stayed behind. Ab, Harry and Ron walked slowly towards the door Ab had indicated. They opened it, just an inch, and peered outside. 

The pub was deserted. The only person there was Goyle - Harry would have recognised him anywhere, his large frame, his trollish features, and looking much better fed and groomed than any of the people they had seen so far. He was perched on a chair in the middle of the room, snoring slightly.

Ron laughed softly behind him. “Perfect,” he said. 

“What d’you know?” Harry said. “It appears the glorious battle for the Hog’s Head will be won without a single spell cast.”

“All the better,” Ab muttered. 

The three of them left the room and walked into the pub. Goyle didn’t stir. They surrounded him then: Harry grabbed his wand, Ron covered him from behind, and Ab tapped his shoulder lightly.

“Wha - what d’ya want?” Goyle said in a confused voice, before focusing on Ab. “Hey, I know you!” 

“Damn right, lad, and I’ve come to get my pub back.”

“What d’ya mean, your pub? Ain’t your pub, this place, s’mine, government said so.” Goyle shook his head and seemed to focus a bit more. When he next spoke, his speech was a lot less slurred - now, there was trepidation in his voice. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Azkaban anyway?”

“Broke out, lad,” Aberforth said. Finally, Goyle realised something was very wrong. He reached for his wand, but it wasn’t there - instead, his hand met Harry. His eyes widened in recognition and fear. 

“Hello, Gregory,” Harry said coldly. In his memories, in his world, Goyle was in Azkaban. One of the only people stupid enough to have been let off the hook by the Wizengamot the first time only to try and continue to follow the Death Eaters’ ideology later. 

This Gregory Goyle didn’t strike him as any cleverer.

Goyle tried to jump from his chair, only to feel Ron’s wand at his neck. “I wouldn’t try anything,” Ron said calmly. “ _Incarcerous_!” he called, and Goyle was engulfed by thick ropes. 

“That’s better, innit?” Ab said. He went to the back room, to call the others. Harry took advantage of that to look around.

He never thought he would say it - or even think it - but the Hog’s Head looked better when Aberforth was its owner. Aberforth was never much for cleanliness, there was no denying that. At its best, his pub could be described as dingy, dirty, and suffering from a lingering smell of goats. The glasses always looked as if they’d just been used, and the only reason Harry thought any wizard had ever agreed to sit there was because they were banned from the Three Broomsticks, or wanted to conduct shady business. It was, therefore, nothing short of surprising that the pub under Gregory Goyle actually looked _worse_.

The lingering smell of goats had given place to a sharp smell of rats. There was mould all over the walls. And it seemed as if instead of being covered by a thick layer of dirt, the floors themselves were made of dirt. He threw a glance at the various glasses, and saw that they, too, looked much worse than they did when Ab owned the pub.

No wonder there was no one here, he thought. The place was a health hazard.

“Blimey,” Ron spoke out loud what Harry was thinking. “This makes Ab look like the best barman in the world.”

Harry snorted. “Just don’t tell him that.”

The rest of the group had walked into the pub now. “I think this calls for a celebration!” someone called behind them - Parvati, Harry thought, or perhaps Padma. 

“Well, let’s see what that bastard keeps in his cupboards, eh?” Ab said, sounding much too enthusiastic for Harry’s liking.

“Oi!” he called. “We still got a lot to do today. No alcohol, right?”

“Fine, Potter, fine,” Ab grumbled, and Ron stifled a laugh. “We’ll just keep the alcohol for tonight.”

Yeah, Harry thought, assuming we won’t be ankle-deep in Ministry wizards by the night.

Ab started passing Butterbeer bottles along. Harry took one, too - they had won that victory without a single curse, not counting Ron’s Incarcerous curse. It was worth celebrating. After all, from now on, things would only become harder. 

The Butterbeer bottle was halfway to his lips when he noticed Dean. Dean didn’t take any drink, nor did he stand with the rest of the group. Instead, he was facing Goyle, his wand aimed at Goyle’s chest, his expression scary. 

Harry exchanged looks with Ron, who was just as confused.

“Dean?” he asked gently. He didn’t think Dean had even heard him.

The rest stopped laughing as well, and stared instead at the two of them, Dean and Goyle. Harry took a step closer. Now Goyle was no longer hidden by Dean’s back, and he could see his face clearly. If he looked scared before, when he was captured by the three of them, it was nothing compared to his expression now. Harry had no words to describe it other than sheer terror.

“Dean?” he said again.

Padma put her hand on Harry’s arm, as if to stop his progress. “Before he got this pub, Goyle used to be a guard in the camp here,” she said quietly.

Harry’s head shot from Padma to Dean. “Dean, don’t do it,” he said, no longer gentle. He searched for Ron. On the other side of the room, Ron nodded and started approaching Dean.

Dean ignored him. 

“Dean...”

“Stand back, Harry.” There was nothing in Dean’s voice but pure hatred. 

“It’s not worth it.”

“Oh, yeah? And what do _you_ know, exactly?”

“What do I know? I know that this can’t possibly be the answer. I know that I know you. You’re not a murderer, Dean, and this, whatever this scum has done, that’s cold blooded murder, and you’re not - ”

“Shut up, before I curse you too.”

“Dean, I don’t presume to tell you to - ”

“Shut the fuck up, Potter.”

Harry stared. It wasn’t Dean this time. It was Anthony. Both he and Padma took a step closer - not towards Dean, towards Harry. And Luna’s wand was aimed at Ron, who had sneaked half the way towards Dean before being caught.

“Luna...” Harry started saying, looking for some shred of sanity. Luna couldn’t possibly be onboard with this.

But she shook her head sadly. “No, Harry,” she said. “This is Dean’s call. And he’ll decide whatever he wants to, and we’ll back him up. Whatever he chooses to do.”

“But you can’t possibly - ”

“Harry, please. This isn’t your war.”

“He does have a point, though, Dean,” Anthony said all of a sudden. Harry turned to him, hoping beyond hope that somehow things will make sense again, but his hope had vanished with Anthony’s next words. “Just do him and be done with it. No need to prolong it, we’ve still got work to do.”

“No,” Dean said. “He doesn’t deserve a quick death.”

“Okay, then take him to the cellar and do whatever you want to do with him, but we really need to start getting things going.”

“Fine,” Dean said, then waved his wand and forced Goyle on his feet. 

“No,” Harry jumped, standing between Dean and Goyle. “I can’t let you do that.”

“Not your call, Potter,” Dean looked at him coldly. There was no sign of the man who, only the night before, believed him when he promised they would find a way. And now, for Harry, that way seemed farther than ever.

“Doesn’t matter, Dean. This is _wrong_. You can’t do it.”

If before Dean’s wand was aimed at Harry by accident, because Harry had jumped between him and Goyle, it was now aimed directly at Harry, on purpose. “Not up to you to tell me what I can or can’t do.”

“Well, that’s just the way it is,” Harry said, aiming his own wand at Dean. 

He was so completely focused on Dean, that he didn’t see the movement next to him. “ _Stupify_ ,” someone said, and everything went black. 

**28th December, 2010, 1:20 p.m.**

In Harry’s dreams, people were screaming. Ron screamed as Voldemort rose from the dead and used the Cruciatus curse on him. Hermione screamed as she was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange. Andormeda Tonks screamed as they took her grandson away. And Gregory Goyle screamed and screamed and screamed.

Harry’s eyes flew open. 

He was sitting, his back against the wall. Someone must have put him there after he was hit with the curse. Next to him Ron sat, pale as a ghost. Harry made to stand up, but a hand stopped him, and Ron shook his head. He looked as if he was about to vomit, desperate and horrified.

“Where’s my wand?” Harry asked, as he realised all of a sudden that his wand was nowhere to be found.

“They took our wands,” Ron said quietly. “And they locked the door to the cellar.”

Harry jumped to his feet. Parvati was leaning on the door to the cellar - blocking it, he suspected. Dean, Anthony, Padma and Luna were nowhere in sight. From beyond the door the screaming continued.

“Have a glass of water, Harry,” Parvati said in a sympathetic voice.

“Give me back my wand,” he said coldly. 

“No,” she said. 

He took a step forward, but she now pulled her wand. “I wouldn’t, if I were you,” she said, her voice still pleasant. “I’m sorry I had to curse you earlier, and I’d be even more sorry to do it again. Please don’t make me.”

“I am not making you do _anything_ ,” Harry almost shouted. Even shouting wasn’t enough to drown the screaming. 

“Please, Harry,” she said again. “Just sit down.”

“No,” he moved forward another step. Her wand was now directly in front of his heart. “I am going to try and stop you. Maybe you can justify to yourself what they’re doing to him down there, but can you justify to yourself what you’ll have to do to me?”

“Yes,” she said, her hand steady, her wand never wavering, her eyes locked on his. “I’m not going to like it, but yes. Please don’t move towards me again.”

Harry took another step forward. Ron got up as well now, and stood side by side with Harry. Parvati didn’t look alarmed or worried, but rather amused. “I really can curse the both of you again,” she said simply.

And then the screaming stopped. 

Ron and Harry looked at one another. “Get out of the way!” Harry shouted, and now Parvati shrugged and moved from the door. Harry started struggling with it - but it was no use. Like Ron had said, the door had been locked by magic. “Come on come on come on!” he said, shaking the door. All of a sudden, it flew open - Parvati had said the counter-curse. Harry raced down the stairs.

At the bottom step he was stopped by Luna and Padma. “Get back up, Harry,” Luna said quietly. “It’s over.” There was blood on her trousers, blood all over her shoes, blood on Padma’s shirt. 

He ignored them and charged forward. “Dean!” he shouted. There were three of them, not two - Dean and Anthony and Andromeda Tonks and the smell of blood everywhere. “Dean!” he shouted again, and then they moved and he saw the body behind them.

Nausea took over him. He doubled back and started retching all over his shoes, the smell of his vomit mixing with the smell of blood. 

“Come on,” someone said, and steered him away from there and towards the stairs. “You shouldn’t be here.” He felt himself pushed up the stairs, slowly, gently, until they walked through the door, until a surge of fresh air hit his face. 

Only then he looked at the man who had helped him up - Dean. “You alright?” Dean asked in concern. “You looked like you were going to faint there for a moment.”

Harry couldn’t focus on his face. His eyes were drawn to Dean’s hands, that had a red tint to them. Blood. Goyle’s blood. He looked down at his own shirt, and could see the blood smeared on it where Dean held him up, helped him get away from that cellar. He looked at his face again, the face that suggested nothing but genuine concern. None of the anger of before, none of the hatred. “You alright?” Dean asked again. 

Harry stumbled back, shaking. He couldn’t find his voice, couldn’t find the words to answer Dean. 

“Come on,” someone said behind him. Ron. The only ray of sunshine in this miserable place, the only remnant of humanity in this whole stinking world. His only connection to a world that was feeling more and more like a dream. “Come on,” Ron insisted and led him to a chair. He put a glass in front of Harry, then poured something in it, an amber liquid. Firewhiskey. “Drink it.” 

He took the drink with a shaking hand and downed it in one gulp. The sting of the alcohol did its work, and Ron’s face swam back into focus. 

Someone put something else in front of him. A stick of wood. A wand. He looked up and saw Dean, standing next to him. Anthony gave Ron his wand back, too.

“You can curse me now, if you want to,” Dean said.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to curse you,” he said, sounding like a stranger to his own ears.

“Good,” Dean said, then sniffed. “Because we still got a few buildings to take over today. And I bet it won’t be easy as this was.” 

“What?” Harry shouted and got to his feet. _Now_ he could find his voice again. “You think I’m still going to help you after - _this_?!”

“Harry,” Ron said behind him.

“Yes, Potter, I think you are,” Anthony said. 

“Well, fucking think again, Goldstein - ”

“ - Harry - ”

“ - Because I have no intention whatsoever - ”

“ - Harry - ”

“ - D’you really think you can just - ”

“Harry!”

Harry stopped shouting. Ron stood there, as pale as he was before, but with a determined look on his face. “Can I have a word?”

Anyone else at that moment, Harry would have dismissed. Anyone at all. But not Ron. He nodded, glared at Anthony for a moment longer, then stepped aside with Ron.

“What?”

“I know how you feel, Harry, I feel the same way. So please don’t bite my head off. But we can’t afford not working with them.”

“You haven’t seen what they did, Ron - ”

Ron looked nauseated for a moment, and his eyes fixed on the blood on Harry’s shirt. “I know,” he said quietly. “Harry. They’re our only way out of here. It’s them or nothing. It’s them or _staying here_. We work with them, we get the hell out of here, we put this entire place out of our mind and never think about it and about them again. Deal?”

It was a long moment before Harry could nod. Every bone in his body rebelled against this decision, rebelled against the idea of cooperating with these people. But Ron was right. They had no choice. “Deal,” he said finally, and they returned to the group.

He and Anthony stared at each other for a while. Harry was the first to speak. “You don’t do that again. Ever.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow, challenging Harry. Before he could explode with anger, though, Ron intervened. “You don’t do that again while we’re here, okay?”

He looked at Anthony, then at Dean. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Dean said finally, reluctantly. 

Harry glared at Anthony. “Okay,” Anthony said. 

They soon decided on a plan of action - try to convince as many people as possible to join them. Harry suggested going to the Three Broomsticks, which at this time of the year was the most likely establishment to actually have people in it, but the rest shook their head. Madam Rosmerta, Aberforth said in irritation, was not likely to take chances, nor were her customers. That would have to be their very last target. 

They decided to start with three places: the post office, the cauldron shop round the corner, and Zonko’s. Zonko’s was further down the road and a bit of a risk, but the owner had long since been a friend of Aberforth’s and, according to him, would be very likely to sympathise with their cause. Within half an hour, they had contacted all three establishments successfully. They only added some six people to their ranks, but, as Harry had pointed out, that was more than a third of what they had started with. 

Having new people with them helped, just for a bit. Harry could look at their faces, and whenever he did, that was one more moment he didn’t look at Dean’s face, or Anthony’s, or Luna’s, or Padma’s, or any of the others. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of the people who had now joined them would have taken a willing part in Goyle’s death, given the chance. 

Honeydukes, the Magic Neep, and Dervish & Bangs were contacted next - and now, when they had Hogsmeade wizards on their side, it all seemed easier. Another hour, and almost all of the shop owners down the Hogsmeade main street were with them. 

“Time to knock on Rosmerta’s door,” Aberforth said grimly.

They could hear the noise coming out from the pub already in the street. Unlike the Hog’s Head, the Three Broomsticks was full. Their only comfort was that by now they had more of an advantage. With their numbers, they could now cover every exit - and with enough people as to discourage anyone from trying to fight their way out. They all assumed that within the pub there would be some people who would, if not join them, at least not fight them. And to top it all, Zonko knew the incantation to prevent Apparition in and out of a certain space. While getting all of Hogsmeade was beyond him - “Can’t do that unless you’re the Ministry” - he could at least prevent any of Madam Rosmerta’s patrons from leaving and alerting the Death Eaters. 

“Alright, it’s show time,” Harry said after Zonko had finished casting the spell.

Aberforth and Ron were the first to enter the pub. “Hello,” Aberforth said loudly, announcing his presence to the entire pub. The noise died down, almost immediately, as people stared at him and Ron.

“You dare show your face here?” someone shouted - Rosmerta, if Harry wasn’t much mistaken. His guess was immediately proven correct by Aberforth’s reaction.

“Now, now, Rosmerta. I know we’ve had quite the stiff competition over the years, but surely you can appreciate me as an old friend after you haven’t seen me for so long?”

“You’re supposed to be in Azkaban!” someone else said. “And you...”

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Ron’s voice was heard next. “We’re really not here on our own.”

That was their cue - The rest of the group now walked in.

“Now wait just a moment, what the hell is going - ” Madam Rosmerta paused mid-sentence. Harry wasn’t surprised - her gaze had just fell on him.

“Hello, Rosmerta,” he said. “I’m afraid rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

Ron groaned. “Really?” he asked. 

“Why not?”

“It’s a cliché!”

“It’s Mark Twain!”

“Who’s Mark Twain?”

“Anyway, what chance will I ever get to say that?”

“Oi, we’re in the middle of something here! D’you mind?” Dean cut their discussion prematurely. Harry ignored him. 

Someone started coughing uncontrollably, gasping for air. Next to Harry, Dean smiled a mirthless smile. “I would suggest you all stay here under Madam Rosmerta’s hospitable roof and not try to Apparate,” he informed the crowd. “We made sure you won’t be able to do that. And now, if you don’t mind, we’d like you to - ”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Having learnt that they won’t be able to Apparate out, some of the Death Eaters in the room decided to try and fight their way out. The first curse almost hit Harry. “ _Protego_!” he shouted out of instinct. It did some good - the next curse had almost hit Dean, but was blocked by Harry’s shield. On Harry’s other side, Ron was already sending curse after curse, disarming their opponents. 

Green jets of light shot towards him. Green jets of light shot from their location as well. He wasn’t quite sure who on their side was using the Killing Curse, but he wasn’t surprised anymore. He made sure to Disarm or Stun every person that came his way, and do it as fast as possible. He didn’t want to give any of the others a chance to kill.

Someone was crawling right past him, towards the exit. “Stupify!” he shouted, a red jet of light leaving his wand - and meeting half-way through with a green jet of light that was also aimed at the crawler. Harry swore and tried to Stun the man again, this time succeeding. He raised his eyes to meet a look of sheer disappointment from the small and harmless Dedalus Diggle. Diggle shrugged and turned back towards the room.

Another green jet of light crashed above Harry. “Stupify!” he shouted, without even realising where he was aiming his wand. But he got whoever it was - Harry suspected it was Yaxley. 

Next to him, another Stunning spell hit a Death Eater. Harry looked around in relief for the person who was acting in a logical, rational way, and his eyes met Ron’s. They jumped back into the room, capturing two more Death Eaters. 

It was all over within five minutes. The Death Eaters were defeated - some of them Stunned, some of them with their bodies lying limp on the floor, dead. They were about half of Rosmerta’s customers, and Harry hoped beyond hope that all those who were hurt were ones who fought back. In the middle of the room, a group of people huddled together, too scared to move, unwilling to fight the rebels. 

“What do we do with them?” someone asked - Andromeda - gesturing at the group.

“How d’you mean, ‘what do we do with them’?” Harry stared at her. 

“I mean we can’t let them go, Potter. We don’t know where their loyalties lie.”

“They didn’t attack us.”

“No, they didn’t. They also didn’t fight with us. And there’s nothing to say that they wouldn’t leave here and go straight to the Ministry.”

She was right, of course, but right now there was absolutely nothing in the world that would have made Harry agree with her. “So what, you want to kill them too? Curse them?”

“No, Potter. But we should at the very least take their wands and stick them somewhere where they won’t get in the way,” she said angrily.

“Actually, that’s a good idea, Harry,” Ron intervened. “We won’t hurt them. Just make sure they can’t do any damage.”

“Okay,” he said and collected their wands. He recognised some of them - there was Madam Puddifoot, who owned a coffee-shop in Hogsmeade, with what seemed to be like her family; Bathsheda Babbling, who used to teach at Hogwarts; a tall man who Harry was sure Cho Chang had married, at least in their world; and even Ludo Bagman, who spent the entire time staring in amazement at Harry. “Sorry about that,” he muttered to Bagman. Bagman didn’t reply.

“Alright, on your feet, all of you,” Dean ordered them, much less gently than Harry. They got up, somewhat scared, a bit relieved, and were led by Dean to the large pantry together with Madam Rosmerta. He locked the door behind them. 

“Now what?” someone asked.

“Now we start going door-to-door,” Harry said. “Take over the entire village. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Sure.”

The Hogsmeade residents had a good grasp of who lived where, who was likely to help them, and who could pose a problem. They checked one street at a time, trying to be as quiet as possible. On their first street, they knocked on the doors of those they knew would help - only once did Zonko get it wrong, and they were greeted with curses instead of sympathy. No one was hurt, but Zonko himself had killed the man he had mistaken for a friend. The rest of his family was sent back to the Three Broomsticks pantry. 

The second street proved more difficult. They had less allies, more opponents, and by the fourth house, the fight was carried down to the street. The took over the street, but this time, the price was a full family, as one of the houses collapsed upon itself from the curses. Harry didn’t even know whether the people inside had been for them or against them. It took all of his willpower no to punch someone when the consensus turned out to be that it didn’t matter. 

By the third street, the opposition was ready and waiting. 

Ron was the first one to fall. 

Harry was busy duelling a witch, who was much more persistent and skilled than the wizards and witches they had met so far. Their opponents were much better organised, too. They must have heard the battle raging on in their neighbouring street. 

She tried to kill him; he tried to Stun her; she tried to kill him again and he almost got hit by the curse and in the end he managed to get her with a full Body-Bind Curse. And that was when a jet of light hit Ron, who was duelling another wizard right next to him.

“Ron!” Harry shouted. “Ron!”

But he couldn’t check on him, not yet. The battle was still going on, and with Ron down, the wizard had turned his attention to Harry. Harry wasn’t even sure which curses he was sending down the wizard’s way. All he knew was that he had to get rid of him, had to get to Ron. After what seemed like forever, he managed to hit the wizard. Usually, he would have tried to take the wizard’s wand, to make sure he couldn’t do any more damage. But Ron was more important.

“Ron,” he crawled to where Ron had fallen. He was still breathing - Harry gave a sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead. But his breathes were shallow, his skin clammy, and he didn’t stir, eve when Harry called his name and shook him.

All around him, the sounds of battle were dying down. They won again. It didn’t matter anymore. “Ron,” he shook his friend again. Nothing happened. 

Someone stood above him now - Goldstein. Harry was prepared to start shouting again, but Anthony’s voice was worried and stressed. “Shit, don’t tell me he’s - ”

“He’s alive,” Harry managed to say. 

“Thank God,” Anthony said. “We need to get him to the Three Broomsticks.”

“I’ll take him.”

“You’re going to need help.”

Harry shook his head, although he knew he’d need the help. “I’m fine. Stay here with the others, we still have the last street.” He was being foolish, he knew it. Once again, he needed Anthony’s help. He just really didn’t want it. 

“Nah, Zonko says it’s mostly friendly. They can do without me for a few minutes. Come on.” Anthony waved his wand to get Ron up from the road, and they moved him back to the centre of town, back into the Three Broomsticks. 

All through the streets there were bodies. They didn’t have time to sort through them, find out who’s who, dispose of the dead. They didn’t even have time to check through the people of the town and see if anyone was missing. By now Harry was sure someone must have got through to the Ministry. They would have to go one by one later, Harry knew. Identify the bodies. Make a list. 

Finally, they made it to the pub. Parvati, who had stayed behind to keep an eye on things, greeted them with a worried expression. “How come the two of you are back - oh,” she said, finally registering who they were carrying with them. “Is he...”

“He’s alive,” Anthony said, and Harry was grateful that he didn’t have to say the words again. Every time he even thought them, the word ‘ _still_ ’ found its way into his mind. 

She helped them arrange a space on a few tables. Harry flicked his wand, conjuring a blanket and some cushions, and then they let Ron softly on the makeshift bed. 

Now he had the time to give Ron a more through check-up. His pulse was erratic. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets. His skin still felt clammy and cold. Harry tried some of the few diagnostic spells he knew, and once again cursed the Auror training programme, that had not given him a more thorough knowledge of healing spells beyond the absolutely basic first aid ones. Of course - what little Aurors knew of first aid only served to stabilise the patient until they could move them to St Mungo’s. Who’d ever imagined that St Mungo’s would be completely unavailable, enemy territory, and he would have no healer in sight. 

“First thing I do when I get back is devise some first-aid programme with Kingsley,” he muttered to himself.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt?” Parvati asked in interest.

“Yeah.”

“He’s alive in your world?”

“Yeah - he’s the Minister.”

“That must be nice,” she said gently.

“Yeah, fat lot of good it does me now.” He didn’t mean to shout at her. But he couldn’t see how to make Ron better. The very few spells he knew had proven useless. Ron did not wake up. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you like that. Listen, what about the Hogsmeade Healer? There has to be someone here, they couldn’t possibly send everyone to St Mungo’s, that’s too far.”

“They do,” Parvati said, but she didn’t sound cheered by the thought. “That’s his body, right there in the corner.”

Harry swore.

“There’s another Healer next to Hogsmeade, though,” a new voice said - Luna.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped.

“Madam Pomfrey. She still works at Hogwarts.”

**28th December, 2010, 6:20 p.m.**

They decided Harry would go into Hogwarts on his own. The others were either all too easily recognised, or their presence at the school would be immediately questioned. When Dean objected on the grounds that Harry was the easiest to recognise of them all, Harry pointed out that as everyone believed him to be dead, he had enough of the element of surprise.

“If I don’t come to them with a drawn wand and cursing my way in, they’d probably think they’re hallucinating or something,” he said, and Dean was forced to agree.

“Be careful,” he told Harry before Harry left. 

After everything today - after the fights, after Goyle, after the incomprehensible switches from a man who appeared an angry heartless monster to the one who felt exactly like the man he had known since age eleven, Harry didn’t even know how to answer. He just shrugged and left the pub. 

Luckily, Hogwarts’ security wasn’t as tight as it used to be. There was no reason for it - as far as Malfoy and the current Headmaster were concerned, the rebels were a small, ineffective bunch, incapable of causing any real damage anywhere, and with a huge list of target in which Hogwarts was never even included. He didn’t even need to stop at the gates of the school - all he needed to do was fetch a broom from Rosmerta’s and ride it high, directly to the Astronomy tower. 

No one saw him coming. No one was alerted to his presence. 

For a moment, he was filled with doubt. The school looked almost deserted - of course it would, it was still the Christmas holidays. Was it possible that Madam Pomfrey was not there? He remembered that at his time at Hogwarts she had always stayed in the school during the holidays, but this was a long time and ago, and so far away. 

Still, there was nothing to it. Not if he wanted to help Ron.

He tiptoed down the familiar corridors. The school, even after more than a decade of Death Eater education, still looked the same. The same corridors, the same hidden doors, tapestries and moving staircases. The path to the hospital wing was the same.

And there - someone _was_ there, he realised. He peeked inside, worried, then relaxed. It was Madam Pomfrey.

He walked into the hospital and closed the door behind him. There was no one else but her. She was humming to herself, completely unaware of what was about to happen. Well, it was now or never.

“Madam Pomfrey,” he said quietly. 

She stopped humming. “Who’s there?” she asked, suspicious. Then her eyes met him. 

It would have been almost comical, if there wasn’t so much at stake. At first, she just looked at him in confusion. “Who are you?” she demanded. But as he failed to answer, he could see realisation slowly dawning on her face, and her eyes made that famous movement, all the way to his forehead.

She shook her head. “Can’t be,” she whispered.

“Madam Pomfrey, please. I need your help.”

“Can’t be,” she said again.

“It’s me, it’s really me, and I really need your help. It’s Ron. Ron Weasley. He’s at Hogsmeade. Something’s happened - please. I don’t know who else to turn to.”

“We can’t leave the school,” she said. “They’ll see us.”

“I came with a broom,” he explained. “Through the Astronomy tower. Please.”

“If they find out...”

She was terrified. Of course she would be. In this place, who wouldn’t?

“We’ll protect you,” he said. “Please.”

“He said... all those years ago, he said... we thought you were dead.”

“It’s a long story,” he said. It was longer than anything he could ever tell her.

“Why did you leave us to him?” she asked then, finding her voice. 

“I didn’t - I’m not - I’m sorry,” he said at last. 

And then she did something completely unexpected. She collected him for a hug. Awkwardly, he wrapped his arms around her in response. “Oh, _Harry_ ,” she sobbed on his shoulder.

A moment later, and she gained control over herself again. She detached herself from him wearing the stern expression he remembered so well from his many visits to the hospital wing. “Now,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone, “we better take as many potions as possible, we probably won’t get the chance to go back here again. What did you say was wrong with him?”

He described the symptoms, and she started collecting different pills and bottles from all over the place. After a while, she started picking up other potions they might need, until he pointed out that they still had to carry all of these themselves. She gave some of the bottles a worried look, before she agreed to give them up. They sneaked out of the hospital wing together, all the way to the broom he had left at the Astronomy tower, and they were off, off to Hogsmeade.

She rushed to Ron’s side as soon as they walked into the Three Broomsticks. Harry had noticed that two others had been laid there, next to him - Angelina Johnson and Dedalus Diggle. In a different corner he saw Aberforth Dumbledore, unmoving.

“Aberforth?” he asked Luna, who shook her head sadly. 

“A Death Eater got him.”

Harry closed his eyes. He started pacing back and forth, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think. Everything was becoming an annoying tinge of red around him, then getting darker and darker. It felt like no oxygen was getting into his lungs.

“Harry!” someone said, he didn’t even notice who, then he was forced down into a chair. 

Luna. It was Luna. His sight was slowly going back to normal. Except it wasn’t Luna. Not really. It was some twisted caricature of Luna. A cold Luna who didn’t have time to care about Nargles and Crumple-Horned Snorcacks because she was too busy killing people.

She was still Luna enough to worry about him, though, and pushed a glass of water into his hand. He drank it. He didn’t realise how thirsty he was until that moment. “Thanks,” he mumbled. 

“Listen,” someone else said - Dean. Not Dean. “We’ve got a bigger problem.”

If Harry had more oxygen in his lungs, he would have shouted at him. But he only nodded wearily. “What now?” he asked at last, weary.

“We went through the houses and the prisoners and the bodies and everything. Three people aren’t accounted for.”

“Did you check, er, there was that, I mean, that collapsed house, did you make sure they’re not there?”

“Yeah, we checked. They’re on our list. Four people there.”

“Maybe some people left for Christmas.”

Dean shook his head. “No. We asked around, they were definitely here this morning.”

Harry’s mind went blank.

“The Ministry knows, Harry. And - ” he exchanged glances with Luna. “Anthony tried to Apparate and he couldn’t. They’ve already started putting up the spells. They’ll be coming here. Soon.”

Something kicked in. Harry’s mind was still blank, as far as he could tell, but now a part of him was offering solutions automatically. He tried to focus enough to share them coherently with the people around him. “We, erm, some safe space. We need a safe space. We need to use Zonko’s spells. So they won’t be able to Apparate right inside where we are and start killing everyone. Something that they can’t get past. Any chance we could do it to the whole village?”

Dean shook his head again. “No chance. We’ve already asked Zonko. I mean, if we still had Ab...” his voice broke. “No chance,” he said again after a moment. The hint of sorrow, of humanity in his voice disappeared. All that was left was cold practicality. 

“Then safe spaces. More than one. Don’t have just one. If we can somehow connect them some way. We need places with provisions, someplace we could sit out anything they’d throw at us. Er. Make sure we take control of the alleys, too. Force them into the light, the centre of the village. That way we can ambush them. Not the other way round. D’you know how long we’ve got?”

“No,” Luna said. “Anything from minutes to hours, I guess. It’s our luck it’s Christmas, half the Ministry is at home or on holiday somewhere. It’d take them a while to get everyone to come here.”

“How many people are we expecting?”

Luna and Dean looked at each other again. “Could be hundreds,” Luna answered quietly.

Hundreds. Ministry employees with the full weight of the Ministry behind them. And they were, what? Thirty, forty people? Hiding in pubs and - and - and _post offices_. What a stupid idea this whole thing was. How did he ever believe they had a chance to succeed?

He knew the answer, of course. Ron had suggested it, and when Ron said it, everything sounded possible.

But Ron was lying on a makeshift bed, unconscious, and they were soon to be overrun by Malfoy’s men.

It was over.


	7. An Equal and Opposite Reaction

**28th December, 2010, 9:30 p.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

Hermione didn’t realise she had fallen asleep. She just sat down for a moment on an armchair by the fire, she thought, but now Ron was shaking her, forcing her to wake up. She was still holding the empty, dead locket in her hand.

“What?” she asked at last, her eyes still closed. 

“Harry’s awake.”

She groaned, then opened her eyes. “Is there anyone with him?” she asked.

“Sirius. I think he took the whole thing in the cave as a personal insult.” Ron’s face wore his lopsided grin as he said that, as if teasing her. But she could see from the size of his pupils and from the way he was biting his lip that he was more worried than relieved.

They should have been celebrating, but they weren’t. 

“You should have told him Harry’s a thick-headed - argh,” she said as she got up and discovered that she could feel her pulse in her forehead, without even touching her wrists or her neck. “You should have told him he’s thick-headed.”

“I did.” Ron only had the ghost of a smile as he said that.

Ron’s quiet demeanour, the resignation in his voice, she knew them all too well. Ron was already preparing himself for the next big battle - no: to the next skirmish, the next duel, the next break-in. There were almost no more big battles left for them. Ron was already preparing himself for the last time he will see his family. Even if he didn’t realise it yet.

She wanted to shout at him now, to shake him, to tell him no, she was wrong, she was so wrong, she had been a fool, such a fool, and he was right all along. But she didn’t do any of these things. Instead, she looked for her shoes in the Gryffindor common room. 

She didn’t remember taking them off, but there they were, by the fire, all tidy and nice. She pulled them on her feet and followed Ron to the hospital wing. They walked in silence through the deserted corridors. Only once did she stop - in front of the glass case of the Neville Longbottom memorial corner. It had a huge crack, running down from one end to the other, the sign of the glass’s encounter with Harry.

“Funny,” Ron said suddenly. “The prophecy was made about him here, and he died, and still...”

“And still?” she asked after a while, when it seemed he would not finish his sentence.

“Things went so much better for them.”

“I don’t think that prophecy was such a good thing to go on,” she answered.

He didn’t answer. They didn’t exchange another word until they reached the doors to the hospital wing, where Hermione stopped. “Ron?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“How... how is he?”

Ron didn’t answer. He just opened the doors and walked inside. After another moment’s hesitation, she walked in after him.

The hospital wing was at disarray. There were shards of glass next to the window. Hermione could see some puddles of spilt potion around too, and broken bottles. Madam Pomfrey was busy sending heaps of bandages into their proper place. 

Harry was sitting up on one of the hospital beds. Sirius was sprawled on a chair in front of him, but both men were silent. Sirius was looking at Harry. Hermione thought she could get used to this joking, free Sirius she’d met here, but he wasn’t joking anymore, he wasn’t free, he just stared at Harry with a familiar scowl on his face. 

Hermione had forgotten that expression until now. It was the expression that had always reminded her most of the dog. It was ironic, perhaps, that in this place, where Sirius never became an Animagus, never became the dog, he still had so much of the dog in him. Perhaps it wasn’t ironic after all.

Harry was staring at the ceiling. 

He had a faraway look about him. She knew that look - she had seen it so often these days. She had seen it when they first found Harry, two and a half years ago, a decade too late. He was looking at the world as if he didn’t quite understand it, or wasn’t fully a part of it. She never got around to asking him.

She didn’t realise how much she hated that expression until now.

He didn’t notice them as they walked into the room. It took Hermione to say ‘hi’ for him to notice. He then stopped looking at the ceiling and focused on them again, focused that hated expression on her.

“How are you feeling?” she asked. Her voice shook. 

His face contorted into disgust. “Remind me not to do that again,” he said.

“Sure,” she said, trying to smile and bite the tears away. She could feel a traitorous tear that had escaped despite her best efforts and was now rolling on her cheek. Just this morning, Harry had wiped the tracks away, but now he made no effort to comfort her. She wiped the tear herself. “If you ever run into a bottle of poison again,” she said in an effort to lighten the mood, “I’ll definitely tell you not to drink it.”

He laughed. That much was a good sign, she knew. And still it didn’t make her feel any better.

“Look,” she said and gave him the locket. She had been clutching it all that time. “We got rid of the Horcruxes.”

He didn’t even stop to enjoy the moment before he said, “That still leaves the snake.”

“We’ll get the snake.”

“This is where we failed last time,” he said. There was no hope in his voice, no excitement. Just the cold facts. She understood, all too well.

There was one time. Two and a half years ago. Ten hours, give or take. Ten hours of pure bliss, when they believed - they actually believed - it could be over. Two and a half years ago was so far into the past that it felt like a different life, and an eternity of reality stood between them and that moment. They knew the truth now. They knew it could never be over. Not really. 

“And what about Neville?” Harry asked now, proceeding to the next problem, the next fear, the next opening for a disaster. 

“We don’t know where he is. Not yet. Dumbledore is trying to find out, he’s talking to Regulus to figure out where they’re holding him.” The disbelief on Harry’s face felt so familiar. “There’s no reason to believe he’s dead, Harry,” she said. “There’s every chance - I don’t think we’re too late.”

“But you don’t know.”

“No. I don’t. I... Dumbledore would know.” The comfort in these words! She never expected to say them again, and never so often. “Regulus must know. And he’s on our side. He would have said if Neville - he would have said if something went wrong. There’s still hope, Harry. Regulus will tell him.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” he asked, and jumped down from the bed to the floor.

“What?”

“Let’s go interrupt them,” Harry said and walked through the door and out of the room.

“Did I mention, he’s kinda growing on me,” Sirius said and followed. 

Hermione laughed, her laughter mixing with the tears that finally found their release. “Come on,” she told Ron. “What else can we do, facing these two?”

They followed Harry all the way to Dumbledore’s office, into which he burst without even a knock on the door.

Dumbledore wasn’t alone. With him was a tall man with dark hair and darker robes - Regulus Black. Hermione recognised him from that time, a few days ago, when he walked into Dumbledore’s office to inform them of Neville - but she also recognised him because of his similarity to Sirius. In a way, this Regulus looked more like the Sirius she had known than the man who stood there beside her. He had the same haunted look she remembered on Sirius, the same air of unhappiness, the same feeling of a spent life. She had heard by now from Sirius how he ended up being Dumbledore’s spy this time round. It was the same regret, the same terrible realisation of what Voldemort was really after that had made him take the Horcrux in their memories. But here, in this place where he and his brother were on slightly better terms, he had become the spy, just as they remembered Snape had done. 

Sirius looked thoughtful when he talked about it earlier, after they had destroyed the Horcruxes. Regulus was horrified with what he had done when he first came to him, Sirius had said. But he wasn’t sure anymore what kept him spying for them, year after year, decade after decade. Sirius had never really considered it was him who was enough for Regulus to choose. Hermione didn’t quite understand how he could have missed it, when his own fondness towards Regulus was so obvious, just as obvious as the way Regulus had looked at his older brother in admiration. 

Dumbledore, too, was looking from one brother to the other. He was playing with a strange, cubical device that looked more like Muggle technology than anything magical. He then put it down and beamed at them.

“Ah, Mr Potter. I was wondering when I would see you again. You’ve met Regulus Black, I believe?”

Harry gave Regulus the tiniest of nods, and fixed his attention on Dumbledore. “We need to get Neville out,” he said. “Now.”

“Mr Black and myself were just discussing ways into Voldemort’s stronghold.”

“Why doesn’t he just let us in through the front door?” Harry asked. Behind him, Sirius spluttered.

To Hermione, the suggestion made sense. “We’ve already got most of the Horcruxes. We are going to attack him, aren’t we?” she asked suspiciously. “What difference does it make if Regulus reveals himself now or not?”

“What if someone wants revenge later on?” Ron pointed out. “Think of Neville’s parents.”

“And when he doesn’t go to Azkaban? What then? They’ll figure it out anyway. I don’t see what we have to lose.”

“You are assuming we are planning to make this our one final attack,” Dumbledore said evenly. 

Hermione stared at him in shock, then felt the rage rise in her. It took her a moment to find her words again. “How dare you,” she said, fighting to control the rage. “How _dare_ you. After what we’ve done for you. After everything - after what Harry just did! How dare you! We had a deal! We help you with the Horcruxes, you help us get Neville! You promised!”

“I did,” he looked straight at her. “And I intend to keep that promise. However, Ms Granger, surely you realise that there are bigger things at stake?”

“No.” It wasn’t Hermione who answered - it was Harry. “You can wait a whole decade for just the right moment, and you’ll never find it. There are no perfect moments in this fight. The only result of being careful would be Neville’s death. We’re going. Right now. You can come with us, or you can stay.”

“I’m going with them,” Sirius said without hesitating. 

Dumbledore ignored him. He studied Harry for a moment, then said, “Very well, Mr Potter. It seems I have no choice.” His words suggested anger or resignation, but Hermione didn’t think she heard any of those in his voice. Instead, he sounded amused. And then he continued, “As it happens, Regulus was just giving me information about Voldemort’s planned moves for today.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling slightly bad for her outburst - but only slightly.

“So, now that we’re all here, we could share this information - ”

“Not yet,” Harry interrupted again. Dumbledore looked at him curiously. 

“I was under the impression you were eager to leave as soon as possible, Mr Potter?”

“I am. But I wanted to ask first... how is he? How’s Neville?”

Everyone’s heads turned towards Regulus. Regulus himself looked extremely uncomfortable. “He’s still alive,” he said eventually. “He’s not doing too well. As you could expect. But if we can get him out of there soon, he’ll be alright.”

“Okay,” Harry finally seemed placated. “Now, you were saying?”

Dumbledore started explaining. As he was explaining, he picked up the small box again and played with it some more.

**29th December, 2010, 2:20 a.m.**

Voldemort never spent too much time in one place, except for the house he had considered his own - the Riddle House in Little Hangleton. There was something so eerie about the entire situation. They had been there, just a few days ago, looking at Neville’s grave, and all that time the living Neville had been so close. 

It was different now, of course. Three days ago they came in the morning; now it was the middle of the night, and everything was dark. The cold wind was the same - chilling to the bone and relentless, and penetrated through Hermione’s coat and shirt as if they weren’t there. She clutched her wand in her shivering hand - soon, she knew, she would use it.

But not just yet.

There was no point in attacking Voldemort first, no point in trying to dispose of him before they got the snake. Regulus had promised them that the snake was independent, and more often than not could be found in the cemetery at that time of night. Apparently, it did not much care it was night and cold and dark. Magical animals were known to behave differently from their non-magical counterparts, and Regulus, who had been following the creature on Dumbledore’s orders for the past three days, was adamant that it did not at all behave like a regular snake. 

So now all they had to do is stand there in the cold, in the snow, and _wait_. Dumbledore didn’t want them to come. He would take care of the snake, he said, and then he will send word. Harry refused to hear of it, of course, and so did Ron and Hermione. And Sirius, who continued to take anything that felt like a sacrifice by them personally, likewise insisted on coming, even when Dumbledore started hinting that too many of them at the cemetery might prove detrimental to the cause.

She meant to go over to where Ron was crouching, to give him a word of encouragement as well as to get the blood to flow back in her legs. Then she saw something - a fleeting movement in the corner of her eye. She froze, her foot still in the air, and slowly moved only her eyes. For a moment, she thought she must have imagined it, or that, perhaps, all she saw was the wind in the grass. But no - there it was again, moving, _slithering_ between the grass blades. 

She clutched her wand. The right spell, at the right moment, and they could get rid of that one last obstacle between them and Voldemort. Except, now she realised, she had no idea how to kill the snake. When they had done it, two years ago, they had Gryffindor’s sword. But now there was no sword, and even if there was, it was not coated with Basilisk venom. They weren’t there when Dumbledore had destroyed the other Horcruxes. He insisted on doing it alone. But now Hermione wished they were there, because she did not know how to draw Dumbledore’s attention to the approaching snake without alerting the snake as well.

In the end, she didn’t need to. Dumbledore, as usual, was one step ahead of her - and of everyone else. It happened without warning: the snake hissed, Dumbledore moved, and there was fire everywhere. It lighted up the entire graveyard - the tombstones, the trees, the great house that could now be seen in the distance. The fire danced in every direction, taking different shapes and hues and looking almost alive. The snow melted before it instantly; the grass was burning. Hermione thought surely it would spread to the tombstones, to the statues - to them. But then a scream could be heard, an inhuman scream, and the fire disappeared just as it appeared, leaving behind nothing but the charred remains of a snake. Even the grass was still fresh.

“Do forgive me,” Dumbledore said calmly to the stunned people around him, “I did not wish to give the snake any chance to get away.”

“Well, you sure showed it,” Ron said, sounding either awed or terrified or both. 

“And now, if you’ll excuse me,” Dumbledore turned from them and waved his wand in the air. Hermione saw for just a moment a silvery bird shooting from the tip of the wand before it disappeared. It wasn’t a minute later when the rest of the volunteers Apparated into the cemetery: Remus, Lily, Snape, James Potter, and Ginny Weasley. 

“And now, we should leave immediately for the house. I do not believe our presence has gone unnoticed, although one lives in eternal hope that our purpose is still a mystery to Voldemort,” Dumbledore said - sounding obscenely cheerful to Hermione’s mind - and started walking. They all followed him.

“How’s George?” Ron asked Ginny quietly next to Hermione. He didn’t have the chance to see his brother since the Weasleys had left Hogwarts, more than 24 hours ago.

“He’s okay,” she answered equally as quietly, but instead of anxious, she was smiling. “Doing much better. He got out of bed this morning, had breakfast with us at the kitchen and everything.”

If Ron was going to answer, he never got the chance. They were still between the tombstones, but someone else appeared in front of them and blocked their way.

Voldemort.

Hermione was there when he died. She made it happen, she and Ron and the others. His death had changed nothing at all - they were still on the run, they were still fighting, their world was still a mockery of what it used to be. The immortal monster was replaced with mortal, ridiculous, _pathetic_ Malfoy, and things got worse. And still she shuddered when someone mentioned his name. Still she was filled with terror at the thought of Lord Voldemort, at the height of his power. Still she feared facing him. 

Or at least, she thought she was.

He was shorter than she remembered. His face looked more like the snake, his eyes red, his nose almost nonexistent. He didn’t look towering at all. He didn’t look imposing or scary. He looked ridiculous, as pathetic as Malfoy who had replaced him. He wasn’t omnipotent, all powerful and all knowing. They were going to kill him, and he didn’t even know it.

She wondered how could she ever fear him at all.

“Hello, Tom,” Dumbledore said. 

“Dumbledore.” Voldemort was cold and self-assured. Hermione almost laughed. “I was not aware the Order has grown so confident as to challenge me in my own house.” 

His eyes flicked between the various members of the Order who stood behind Dumbledore. How strange it was - he had not given Harry a second glance, but his eyes shone in anger as his gaze fell in turn both on Regulus and on Ron.

“I am afraid it is more serious than that,” Dumbledore said, still lightly. “I am afraid we have come to end this war, once and for all.”

“Have you finally found your nerves again, old man? Is it because of the man who is now my... guest? You think you will win now, that your precious prophecy can now be fulfilled? He is nothing!”

“As a matter of fact, it is not Neville I am relying on at the moment. But rather, these three,” he gestured at Ron, Hermione, and Harry.

“Who are they? They are unimportant! They are nothing!” he shrieked. 

Hermione wasn’t sure who cast the first spell - but there it was, another burst of flame, just like before, eating everything in its path. And in its light she could see dark figures appearing between the tombstones. Death Eaters.

She fought them instinctively, without thinking, sending curses in every direction. A jet of red light there, a stream of green light here. Someone groaned next to her; she had no way of knowing whether friend or foe. A curse, a hex, a shielding charm, and all the while the fire raged on.

The fight ended just as it started - without warning. It took her a moment to realise that no one was attacking her anymore. Did they all run away, she wondered, did they all turn tail and run? No, because there they were, bound by Dumbledore’s magic, staring in disbelief at the body of their fallen leader.

Once again, Lord Voldemort was dead. For some reason, it didn’t make her happy this time round. Perhaps, she thought, later.

Now there were more important things to take care of.

She didn’t care about the strange, unhappy way Dumbledore was now looking at Harry, she didn’t care about the Death Eaters, she didn’t care about what the rest of them were going to do now. Together with Ron and Harry, she was running toward the old house. 

The front door was ajar. It was old, heavy and wooden, and creaked when Harry opened it wide, allowing all three of them in. It had obviously seen better days. In fact, the entire house had seen better days. However long Lord Voldemort had stayed in the house, it was clear he had not considered it a home. The building was freezing, no sign of heating or fire anywhere, and a damp air all around them. There was mould growing on parts of the wall, the kind that would have been only too easy to remove by magic had the wizards simply given from their time to do so. 

They searched the first floor of the house. It carried the signs of a once well-cared for building: the large drawing room, its great sofas and tables covered with dust, the heavy carpet moth-eaten; a smaller study, its many shelves now empty, the oak desk clear and unused; the kitchen, once marry and fully equipped, now completely abandoned, and next to it the empty pantry. Neville could not be found in either of these gloomy and dark rooms. They would have to go onwards, up the flight of stairs and into the second floor.

Like the doors, the stairs creaked. The bannister was full of termites, and threatened to crumble at any moment. Harry climbed first, Hermione followed, and Ron made the rear. They climbed fast, almost running.

The second floor had nothing but one small room, adjacent to a disused bedroom. Dust ruled everywhere, dust and chill and damp. No one had been to these rooms in years, perhaps decade. Not a living soul.

Dread had started to settle in the pit of Hermione’s stomach. The house was quiet, quiet but for the wind that was howling through the empty rooms. There was no sign of life anywhere, no sign of Neville.

On the first floor, they had gone room by room, searching each one thoroughly, opening cupboards and looking under the sofas and tables - perhaps he was hidden somewhere under an invisibility cloak. Now, though, Harry did not even bother to enter the rooms - he gave each room one hasty look from the outside, then proceeded up, to the third floor, up the dusty stairs.

Hermione looked at Ron, and saw her own fears reflected in his eyes. Regulus had seen Neville in that first night, yes, and even yesterday - but that was yesterday. Voldemort did not show surprise when he saw his loyal servant amongst the ranks of his enemies, only anger. What if he had realised Regulus was a spy? What if he had moved Neville somewhere?

What if Neville was dead?

Harry now burst into the third floor room. The entire floor was one big bedroom - and finally, one room that looked lived-in. There was less dust there, and traces of timber in the grate. But that room was empty, too. They went under the big bed, opened every door in the many wardrobes and cupboards. Nothing. _Homenum Revelio_ , Hermione whispered, at the same time as Harry pointed - the door to the en-suite was closed. 

Harry tried the door first. It did not yield. “It’s locked,” he noted the obvious.

“Well, it’s worth a try,” Hermione said and pointed her wand at the closed door. “ _Alohomora_!” she said. Voldemort must not have thought anyone would get this far - it flew open, revealing complete darkness inside. “ _Lumos_ ,” Ron whispered next to her, and the tip of his wand lighted the small room. 

They saw Neville almost immediately. He was curled next to the door. He did not move. 

“Neville?” Hermione asked tentatively. He didn’t stir.

It was Harry who crouched next to the figure and put his hand on Neville’s shoulder, after a moment’s hesitation. “Neville,” he said softly and shook him.

Hermione sighed with relief when Neville moved and opened his eyes.

“Harry,” he said in a weak voice.

“Yeah, we’re here. We’ve come to get you. I’m sorry it took us so long.”

“You need to get out of here,” Neville’s voice was urgent and scared. “He’s here - he’s alive - I don’t know how - I swear it’s him, Harry, I swear, it’s Voldemort, Harry, Voldemort’s alive!”

“We know,” Harry said, his voice still soft. “He’s dead. He’s dead again. I killed him. It’s alright. It’s over.”

“Voldemort...”

“He’s dead. It’s okay.”

Neville paused, then blinked. “Really? He’s dead?”

“Yeah. It’s okay. No more bad guys, right?” Harry smiled. “It’s okay.”

Neville groaned and tried to sit up now. Harry helped him, tried to help him up completely, but Neville seemed content to just be put in a sitting position, then groaned again. “He’s gone,” he half-said, half-whispered.

“He’s gone.”

“Argh. Think I’m going to lose consciousness now, hope you don’t mind.”

Harry chuckled. “You go right ahead and do that.”

Neville closed his eyes.

**29th December, 2010, 5 a.m.**

They both stared at the box for a long time in silence. “This isn’t fair,” she said in the end. All her bitterness, all her anger, all her frustration, all were distilled into these three inadequate words. They sounded childish to her own ears.

He prodded the box a bit, pushed it towards her.

“This isn’t fair,” she said again, louder.

“You could stay,” he said to the box. “You don’t have to go.”

Something inside her rebelled at his calm, caring voice. He was sincere, but in her response, she acted as if he was not. “Why shouldn’t we stay?” she demanded. “Why shouldn’t we have this, why shouldn’t we get to enjoy this? We saved you. _We_ did. You’re living in paradise now, and it’s all thanks to us!”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“We _deserve_ this. We deserve this perfect world of yours. We deserve to enjoy some peace and quiet and fun and everyone we care about.”

“Yes,” he agreed again. Each time he agreed, the spirit of rebellion left her a little bit.

“What do you think we should do?” she asked, no longer shouting. 

Finally, Albus Dumbledore raised his eyes from the Muggle device and looked straight at Hermione. There was no sparkle in the blue eyes, no humour behind the half-moon glasses. “I think, Ms Granger,” he said carefully, “that you should go back to where you came from.”

“You don’t think we belong here.” She was accusing him, but even she didn’t know why.

“No,” he agreed again. “I don’t.”

“You think we’re beyond saving,” she said and sat down on her chair again. Her voice was calm and quiet. All of a sudden, she was so, so tired.

And now he had the audacity to look guilty. His eyes left hers, and he picked up the Muggle device again. “I am not sure that ‘beyond saving’ would have been my phrase of choice,” he said quietly, all the while examining the device in fascination. Finally, he put it down again. “But yes, Ms Granger. I do not think you will fit this world.”

“Why would we go back? What have we got there?”

“You have your own world to save now.”

“It can’t be done.” He studied her with his piercing blue eyes, as if admonishing her for her admit of defeat, but she didn’t care anymore, just went on wearily. “We know it can’t be done. This isn’t a war we can win. Not anymore. Not ever. Even if we did get to Malfoy, even if we did destroy the Ministry... what then? There’s nothing left.”

“If you truly believed that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” he answered. “I told you, Ms Granger. You _could_ stay. I will not say a word. I will take this little box and hide it where no one will ever know it ever existed. I will not repeat my...” he considered his words for a moment. “No one needs to know what _I_ think of your situation, Ms Granger. The others will gladly accept you. It will be an unexplained mystery, your appearance here, all of a sudden, our of nowhere. An unexplained miracle, I’m sure Molly will think. If only you truly believed your words.

“But you don’t. Somewhere deep down, you’re thinking, there’s still the smallest of chances. Your friends are probably imprisoned by your Ministry, and you need to save them. And it’s worth saving them, because, perhaps, one day, out of the blue, you will manage to do this, you will manage to bring the Ministry down, and then, perhaps, you will get your lives back. You have not completely lost hope yet, Ms Granger, and this is why you cannot stay here. This is why you have to go.”

“But it’s not fair,” she whispered again. “We could be so happy here.”

He didn’t answer.

“There’s nothing there,” she said again, begging him to convince her to stay. 

But he only said, “Perhaps, in your absence, the knight in shining armour you’ve been looking for has arrived."

**29th December, 2010, 5:30 a.m. X removed to S’:**

Through the windows of the Three Broomsticks, the night was dark and forbidding. There was little movement in the town outside - a random stray dog, leaves blowing in the wind. Every once in a while, though, movement had started. A small group of black clad wizards would Apparate right in front of the Three Broomsticks, visible in the weak light of the torches that had been set around the building. They would search the shops all around them, then continue to the streets and the houses nearby. Every once in a while, one of the wizards would aim their wand at a stray dog and the animal would yelp in pain. They would then disperse to the rest of the town, and a while later, the whole thing would repeat itself with a new group.

Harry had lost count of how many Death Eaters and other Ministry wizards had arrived in town by now. He just kept on staring through the window. In his hand, he was clutching the crumpled photograph of his family.

“Just got word from Madam Pomfrey,” someone said quietly - Dean. Harry’s eyes left the window and turned towards Dean. “They reached the cave.”

“Did they Apparate out?”

Dean shook his head. “The Death Eaters’ jinx continues way past it. They tried going forward for a while, hoping it would end somewhere next to it, but no luck.”

Harry nodded. “With any luck, the Death Eaters wouldn’t think of them once they finished with us.”

“With any luck,” Dean repeated. He didn’t sound convinced at all.

“Are we sure they can’t Apparate here? I mean, they have no problems Apparating outside,” he gestured at the window.

“Nah,” Dean said. “It’s a different jinx, see? We used the original, the same one they used at Hogwarts at the time. Can’t get past that. The Ministry’s using an updated version of the spell. With the loophole that allows specifically enchanted objects like that stone of yours to bypass the jinx. Huh,” he said, as if in an afterthought, “it’s illegal to use the old jinx now. Exactly because of that, see. They can’t get past it.”

“Yeah,” Harry mused, “they’ll end up throwing us into Azkaban because of it.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, and they both burst in laughter.

“Hey, what’s that?” 

Harry handed the photograph over to Dean, who looked at it for a moment.

“She looks like - Is that Ginny Weasley?”

“Been Potter for the past seven years,” Harry said quietly.

Dean looked at the photograph some more. “She was a brilliant girl,” he said eventually.

“She’s a brilliant woman.”

Another batch of Death Eaters Apparated into the street across from them. The two watched them in silence as they spread and started looking around the shops, just like the others before them.

“How many of them showed up so far?”

“I’ve lost count.”

Dean looked a the photograph again. “I think it was a one way trip. I don’t think you could have gone home even if you weren’t stuck here.”

“How d’you figure that?”

“Our Harry - and Ron, and Hermione, and Neville... they would have come back. That’s why Anthony’s in such piss-poor mood all the time, he’s not always as hostile as that,” Dean broke into a smile. “It’s just... hard. Missing them.”

“They could be in our world. Must look like paradise compared to this place. Maybe they just decided to stay.”

“No.”

Harry didn’t answer, and Dean continued. “They wouldn’t leave us here, not if they had a way back. And in your world, without the war, without the Ministry, without Malfoy... they’re bound to find a way. Two Hermiones, right?” Now Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. The thought of two Hermiones going through books, trying to figure it out... 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’re stuck here. I really am.”

“I believe you,” Harry said, and felt so, so tired. He looked at the window for a moment, then back at the photograph that was still in Dean’s hands. “I just don’t understand you.”

“Me, specifically?” Dean asked with half a smile. It was clear he understood what Harry meant.

“All of you. You’d torture a man to death just to see him suffer before he dies, but you stayed here with us, even though you could have left with Madam Pomfrey’s group. You’re going to die here, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Why didn’t you leave when we had the chance?”

“You know why not,” Harry said irritably. “I couldn’t move Ron, and I couldn’t leave him.”

“Exactly,” Dean smiled now. “And we couldn’t leave the two of you behind. Same thing.”

“It shouldn’t be. Not for you.”

“It’s like you said, Harry. You don’t understand us.”

“Nah, he can just see how mental you all - argh.” Both Harry and Dean jumped. The weak voice that spoke could only belong to one person - Ron.

“Ron!” Harry rushed to the table-turned-bed where Ron lay. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a tonne of bricks fell on me. Argh.”

“Eh, you’ve been through worse.”

“Doesn’t feel like it from where I’m standing. How long was I out?”

“Thirteen hours,” Harry looked at the window again for a while. “Almost dawn now.”

“Nah - December in Scotland. There’s a few hours yet till dawn.”

“Right.”

Ron tried to sit up. He was pale, paler than Harry had ever seen him, save perhaps that one time he splinched himself and lost so much blood that Harry was afraid he would die. His hands shook while he tried to pull himself up, and his breathing became laboured and shallow. Harry immediately rushed to his help, tried to prop him against the small piece of wall, but Ron soon gave up and returned to lying down. 

“How long have we got?” he asked after a while, once he managed to breathe normally again.

“We don’t know,” Harry answered. “All they’ve been doing is sending more and more people, for hours now. But they’re not attacking or anything.”

“Probably surrounding us.”

Harry smiled without mirth. “Or maybe they just haven’t found us yet.”

“Yeah...” 

Before Ron could say anything more, his face contorted in pain. Harry rushed to find the potion Madam Pomfrey had left him. He poured some of the green liquid into a small goblet. “Here,” he handed Ron the goblet, “drink this.” 

Ron hesitated. Harry knew what he was thinking. “It’s alright,” he said softly. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

Ron nodded weakly, and drank the potion. In no time at all, he was back to sleep.

**29th December, 2010, 8:20 a.m. X’ removed to S’’:**

“... I mean, why on earth would you advertise an orchard to let in the middle of the city?” Ron’s incredulous voice could be heard from the corridor.

Neville’s voice was equally strong as he answered. “Where else would you advertise an orchard?”

“I dunno - next to the orchard, maybe?”

“Yeah, but who’s gonna see it? It’s an orchard, not a lot of people are going to go past. Loads more people see it in the city.”

“Okay - so maybe in some kind of billboard that’s relevant to people who are interested in orchards...”

“Billboard for people who are interested in orchards?!” Neville repeated, and Hermione walked into the hospital wing just in time to see him lift an eyebrow in amused doubt.

Neville was already sitting up in his hospital bed, looking much better than he did only a few hours ago. It was like Madam Pomfrey had said - a good sleep, a good meal, and he was as good as new. Not really, Hermione knew. None of them were good as new. And Neville would still be carrying his experiences from the past four days for a long time to come. But for these precious few hours, they had the opportunity to be alright.

On the bed next to his were Ron and Harry. Madam Pomfrey was not pleased with the idea of them sitting with Neville when he was sleeping, but they all insisted, and in the end Dumbledore had told her to let them stay. She would probably be even less pleased now, Hermione mused. Ron and Neville were deep in conversation, surely causing Neville much more excitement than the Matron would ever approve. 

“I don’t know!” Ron protested now, still on the topic of orchards-to-let. “What are you going to do with an orchard once you’ve rented it, anyway?”

“What are you asking me for?” Neville asked. Hermione, meanwhile, sat down on Ron’s other side, close to Neville. 

“I don’t know, you seem to think it’s reasonable to put up adverts for orchards in the middle of London. I mean, really, what’s the point? It’s only a rental, you can’t, I dunno, take it down and build a house on the land instead!”

“I’m not sure you could do it anyway, you probably need permits and things,” Neville mused.

“See?!”

“Maybe they wanted apples,” Harry suggested quietly. Despite herself, Hermione chuckled.

Ron pointedly ignored him. “I mean, say you woke up in the morning and found the deeds for an orchard in your pocket. What do you do with it?”

“For one thing, if I woke up and just happened to find deeds for an orchard, I’m going to start worrying about what I did the night before,” Neville said levelly. “Anyway, this is a ridiculous argument. Enough about orchards,” he declared. “I can’t wait to see everyone - why aren’t they here? Professor Lupin and Harry’s parents and Professor Dumbledore and everyone...” he paused for a moment, then started again, more subdued. “And my old gran. Do you know if she’s here? Did you ask anyone?”

The three of them - Hermione, Ron, and Harry - looked at each other in silence for a moment. None of them answered.

Neville scratched his nose with his heavily-bandaged hand. “What is it, guys?” he asked after a while.

“She’s here, Neville,” Harry finally said.

“It’s just that - ” Ron hurried to continue the sentence, but then faltered.

Hermione took a deep breath. It was unlikely any of the others would explain. “You know how Remus is alive here? And Sirius? And Dumbledore? And all the rest?”

“Yes...” Neville said slowly.

“We’re not here. The four of us. Each one of us for a different reason. Augusta is here, Neville, but she’s - she thinks you’re dead. You _are_ dead. You’ve been dead for fifteen years.”

“Maybe she’d be happy to see me,” he said.

“It might be too much for her,” Hermione said gently. 

Neville shook his head. “I can’t wrap my head around this,” he said. “Voldemort - he was terrified to see me. He didn’t even notice I didn’t have Harry’s scar. He thought...” he shook his head again. “Mental, this place. But - good mental. Is it true Kingsley Shacklebolt is the Minister?”

Ron’s smile was wide. “Yeah. And apparently Percy is his special aide or something.”

“Mental,” Neville repeated.

“Wait till you get out of here. No one can believe it that you’re here - you should hear them talking. Everyone’s so excited, and now with Voldemort dead...”

“But that wasn’t me. Not the first time - I don’t have the scar, I never had it. And not now, either. I was just a prisoner.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said all of a sudden. “They’re still excited. It’s a good thing.”

“Is it?” Neville asked, and Harry nodded. “Yes,” he said in an assured voice. “It’s a good thing.”

Neville laughed. “Alright, then.”

Hermione’s heart broke all over again, hearing their words. But she knew it was now - or never. And never was not an option. Dumbledore was right. She took a deep breath. “Perhaps it isn’t such a good thing,” she said. 

All three of them stopped their chat and stared at her. Ron’s hand found hers. He was willing to believe, just for a moment, he was willing to hope, and now she had to take it away from him again. She pulled her hand away.

“Dumbledore’s figured it out. What happened. Why we have our memories and they have theirs,” she said quietly. 

“Time travel,” Ron said.

She shook her head.

“Not time travel?”

“No. Not time travel. I said so, I told Sirius, I told Remus, I told Dumbledore - time travel doesn’t make any sense. Even if it could somehow happen without affecting the four of us - and I’m sorry, but time travel just doesn’t work that way, it never did, not with the time turners! - it just didn’t fit. The Death Eaters had an advantage over us, they didn’t even need Voldemort anymore. They still had what they wanted, even after he was gone.”

“Then what.” Ron’s voice was cold. He knew, she realised. He knew what was coming.

“Two worlds. Two worlds that are very similar. But not quite. In one of them, Sirius came to Hogwarts on the first of September, and in the other, it took him another two weeks. And then everything changed. And they stopped being similar. We belong in one - and this is another.”

“So we travelled?” Neville frowned. “From one world to the next?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“We didn’t cast any new spells, we didn’t do anything new, if Dumbledore thinks we - I dunno, accidentally cast a switch-your-world spell or something? Then he’s mental!” Ron’s voice was rough, uncompromising. Angry. As she knew it would be. He had made the ultimate mistake. With Voldemort dead, with Neville alive and well, Ron had allowed himself to hope, for just one moment, and now he could see that hope snatched away. 

“It was the Muggles. That’s what Dumbledore found out. They didn’t know what they were doing. It was just a bunch of Muggle scientists, doing research - just testing things, I guess. They didn’t understand what they invented. But the Department of Mysteries did - well, not _understand_ it, I think. I don’t think they would have allowed this device they created to exist if they understood what it did.”

“What does it do, Hermione?”

“It got us from there - to here. It was in the Department of Mysteries, see. That’s what happened. When we went to free you, when we entered the Ministry...”

“How?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Dumbledore didn’t have a lot of time to study the device in this world. He only learned about it because - well, I’m not even sure of that. He said there was some disturbance when got here. Like... a burst of magic, so strong that it was noticed, you know?”

“No. I don’t.” Ron’s face twisted in anger. No, not anger, Hermione knew. Resentment. He would refuse to accept her conclusion until the very last moment. But she knew now she had won. He would agree, in the end. She knew him well enough. It didn’t make her feel any better. 

“I don’t, either,” she said. “That’s what Dumbledore had said. That’s why he never showed up at the Burrow. He was supposed to go there, to move George here, back on Christmas eve. But then this happened, and he travelled immediately to the Ministry to check it and that’s where he found it.”

“The Muggle device.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “Look, Luna, Dean, Padma, Parvati, Anthony... They’re all real. They’re all still alive. They’re all _there_. We can’t abandon them.”

“What if we brought them here?” Neville asked, and Ron jumped on the idea, grabbed it with both hands. 

“Yes! We can bring them here, they don’t have to be there, I bet their families are still here too somewhere, think of Luna when she’d get to see old Xeno again...” his voice died as Hermione shook her head.

“It doesn’t work like that. Either we stay here and they stay there - or we go back there. We can’t bring them here. It was an accident, it was a fluke, we don’t know how it happened in the first place... you can’t just pull out whoever you want, Ron.”

She thought he had accepted her words. She thought he had understood. But when Ron spoke next, she realised he could still surprise her, that even after all these years and all those disasters they went through together, there was a part of him she never fully accepted. That part of him that had lost hope, a long time ago. “And what if we do leave them there?” he asked. “We can’t be responsible to the whole damn world. They won’t be able to blame us, not if they knew. Let them go on fighting, haven’t we fought enough? Don’t we deserve some rest? I’d do anything to bring them here, but if this isn’t an option... what reason do we have to go back there? How far does loyalty stretch?”

Her mind went blank. She didn’t know how to answer. Her hand sought his. She pressed it hard, willing for him to understand all on his own. His hand squeezed hers back, but she didn’t think he understood.

“The agreement was that if this was a trap, if something went wrong, if we failed, they would come after us,” Harry said. “They’re probably in Malfoy’s cells right now. Wondering where we are and when we’ll show up to save them.”

“There is nothing I want more than to stay here with my gran,” Neville added. “Nothing in the world. But not at this price.”

“Hermione?” Ron half asked, half begged.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ron,” she whispered.

His eyes met her. There was no shred of hope in them, no expectation that somehow things will get better after all. Just hollow resignation. She didn’t understand him at all, in the end. Ron was going to go back with them, but he wasn’t going back because, like her, he believed there had to be something out there worth fighting for still. Dumbledore was right about Hermione, and about Neville and Harry as well, but he was wrong about Ron. Ron was going back because she believed it. That was his sole reason. 

His hand let go of hers.

**29th December, 2010, 9 a.m. X removed to S’**

There was someone in the snow in front him. Parvati. 

She wasn’t forced to kneel on the freezing earth like the rest of them. She wasn’t forced into line. Harry knew what it meant, but he didn’t want to believe it.

Believe it, a small part in him said. You’re going right after her.

The Death Eaters, who finally gained entrance to the Three Broomsticks, came out dragging someone - Ron. He couldn’t stand yet, but they didn’t care. They just shoved him next to Harry.

“Kneel, scum,” the Death Eater snarled at him. Ron could barely hold himself straight. The clean shirt Madam Pomfrey had given him was full of blood again. He was shaking like a leaf. Harry reached with his hand, trying to support him. 

“Thanks,” Ron mumbled. Harry knew what he was thanking him for. “It will be over soon,” he answered quietly. Ron nodded. 

A sharp pain from behind and Harry found his face splayed into the snow. Something was squashing his windpipe, he was choking, and a voice was heard in his ear, “No talking.”

All of a sudden he could breathe again. He pulled himself up. The Death Eater in front of him smirked. He had a sudden thought - Amycus Carrow? he wondered. He didn’t know why it mattered now who this Death Eater was. Not anymore.

He didn’t know what they were waiting for. They were all there, kneeling in line, guarded by the Death Eaters, all but Parvati whose body was lying in front of them. But none of the Death Eaters aimed their wands at them, none of them said those words that Harry knew would come. _Avada Kedavra_. Go on, he almost wanted to shout at them. Come on. Do it! Finish it already! They didn’t.

Then he saw him. Blond hair, almost white, grey eyes. The robes of an important man on him, the robes of the Minister for Magic. What a joke. Draco Malfoy walked up and down the line of prisoners, examining them, satisfaction written all over his face. There was nothing Harry wanted to do more than wipe that smirk off his face. 

Perhaps it was the smirk; perhaps the Death Eaters. Perhaps the way Malfoy repeated the words, “Excellent, excellent,” as he looked at them, the casual way he had kicked Parvati’s body over. Or perhaps just the thought of Ginny, firmly lodged in Harry’s mind. He wasn’t sure what it was. He just knew that as Malfoy passed by him, he lunged. He tried to grab his wand, he told himself, but what he really was trying to do is grab every inch he could of Malfoy and pound him into dust.

The whole thing took no more than ten seconds. Harry wasn’t even sure whether he was Stunned and re-awakened, or whether the Death Eaters simply grabbed him and dragged him back into line. All he knew was that Malfoy’s wand was now pressing directly at his chest, that Malfoy was leaning over him, and that Malfoy’s smile was full of delight.

“How heroic,” he hissed. “One last stand. Remarkable, Potter. Truly, remarkable.” He straightened up. “Completely pointless, of course, but still... Good to see you still have some spirit in you. Take Potter back to my office,” he told the Death Eater in front of him. “Kill the rest.”


	8. Do Or Die

**Part 2 - Your Heart's Desire**

**Chapter 8: Do or Die**

**29th December, 2010, 9 a.m**

Did it work? Hermione looked around her in confusion. Where were they - Hogsmeade. The same place as they left. The alley behind the Three Broomsticks. And somewhere near them, someone was talking.

“Argh,” Ron started moaning, but Hermione shushed him immediately. If she could only hear...

“Take Potter to my office,” the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy came to her ears. “Kill the rest.”

That was all they needed to hear. They reacted out of instinct, not thought. Immediately they rushed to the other side of the building, sending curses in every direction. “Stupify!” Hermione shouted. Next to her, Neville aimed his own Impediment jinx at more Death Eaters. They didn’t dare use the Killing Curse, not when they didn’t know who was there and where they were, but they used almost everything else. 

One Death Eater down, four Death Eater down, then ten... They never saw them coming. Soon the snow was full of groaning bodies, and between them - their friends, getting up, a look of utter confusion on their faces. 

“Wands! Take their wands!” Hermione shouted. “And Apparate to Petersfield Orchard. Go!”

Her friends rushed forwards. Some of them stumbled. Luna crawled forward to grab a Death Eater’s wand, then disappeared in a twist of her body. A red stain was left on the earth in her stead. Dean pulled Padma forward, then grabbed them both and Disapparated. Neville rushed towards the group and sought Anthony, and they too disappeared. Harry helped Ron up, then grabbed a couple of wands and thrust one in his hand. “Go!” he shouted as he grabbed a body on the ground. 

Hermione was the last to Apparate to the orchard.

The small cabin was in complete silence, except for Padma’s sobs. She was sitting on one of the two chairs in the room, shaking and shivering. Luna was crouching on the floor next to her, one hand on her leg, the other on her shoulder, saying nothing. Behind her, Anthony and Neville hovered anxiously. Dean leaned on the wall, his eyes darting in every direction.

Ron and Harry stared at the door to the other room, their eyes wide with shock.

Hermione waved her hand. More chairs appeared. Ron stared at the chair as if he could not figure out where it came from, then tapped Harry’s shoulder. Harry nodded and sat down. They both looked as if they’d seen a ghost. 

And then she saw the ghost too, coming out of the other room.

She understood what had happened in an instant, of course. It was obvious as soon as Harry - another Harry, a different Harry - stepped into the room. But his mere presence there felt like a blow to her heart. His hair was all black, unlike Harry’s - their Harry, the Harry she learnt to know all over again for the past two years - where the black was interrupted in disarrayed streaks of grey. His face was smoother, with no lines - not just less than Harry’s, but less than hers and Ron’s, she knew. The only lines she could see there were laughter lines. And his green eyes were bright and alert and so much like those she remembered from all those years ago. 

“Parvati’s dead,” he said in a voice that was clear and strong and full of confidence. “I want to bury her as soon as possible. I don’t want to leave the body there with Ron. He needs to recover.”

He didn’t go to offer his support to Padma. Nor did he look surprised when his eyes fell on the other Harry and Ron, on Neville and on her. He just nodded slightly, acknowledging them - as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if there was nothing surprising in the fact that they had arrived from an _alternate universe_ \- how ridiculous those words were!

There was something cold in him, Hermione realised. She now wondered what kind of a world he came from, despite the suggestion of his appearance that he had come from another perfect world, like the one they had left behind. 

“I’ll come with you.” Padma was no longer sobbing. She held her head high, and stared at him in determination. He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. 

“If you wish,” he said. “Let’s go, then.”

They left the cabin together. The rest followed them in silence, walked outside and into the orchard. Now, in the dead of winter, the trees stood barren and sad, covered with snow like the cabin, like the stone wall, like everything else around him. 

Harry didn’t stop to look at the trees. He stretched his hand, aimed his wand at the ground in front of them, instantly digging a hole in the ground with magic. Hermione was suddenly reminded of the last time she had seen him dig a grave - for Dobby, all those years ago. He hadn’t used magic then. He insisted on working on the earth. She wondered whether this Harry had ever dug the grave for Dobby. 

Another flick of his wand, and the body was summoned from within the cabin and lain gently in the grave. How easily he did it! Without effort or mistake. Only then he paused, then looked at Padma. “Do you want to say something?” he asked her, and now Hermione was sure that there was cold hostility in his voice, not just in his demeanour. 

Padma shook her head. “Just get on with it,” she said weakly.

Harry shrugged, then flicked his wand. The earth covered the grave. It was over.

Padma was the first to leave the graveside. She took three steps, then stumbled. Luna rushed to her, caught her before she fell. She was shaking in her arms. It was so obvious that Hermione could see it, all the way from where she was standing. 

“Hey,” Luna said quietly. “It’s alright.” She led her back to the cabin, in slow and measured steps. 

Anthony was the next to move, but not away from the grave, but towards it. He placed a small stone on the earth of the grave, then stood in front of it for a while.

“What’s wrong?” Neville said. He nudged him to continue, but Anthony looked at the cabin where Padma had disappeared with Luna instead.

“There’s this prayer,” he said. “My father... I don’t know, he recited it in my grandfather’s funeral. I tried to - well, I can’t remember it now.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Dean said roughly, and his voice sounded all the louder after the quiet exchange before. “D’you think God is going to help?”

“I stopped believing in God a long time ago,” Anthony replied and walked to the cabin as well. Dean and Neville exchanged looks and followed him.

They remained four outside now. Hermione, Ron, Harry - and the other Harry. Hermione sought Ron’s hand, but he stepped away from her and towards the other Harry.

“You don’t look surprised to see us,” he said. 

The other Harry shrugged. “Figured you’d exist. Don’t get me wrong, I’m nothing short of thrilled that you’re here. Means we can find a way to get the hell out of this place.” He considered her for a moment. “How’s Ginny? How did she take all of that?” he asked.

“Ginny? But... I’m not - where do you think we come from?”

He frowned. “Didn’t you end up back where we come from?” he asked.

“Oh,” Hermione finally understood. This Harry and Ginny, in his own world - well, why not, really? she thought. “No,” she explained. “It wasn’t your world. It was another world.”

“Another world? How many are there out there?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Could be just these three.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said and looked at her - no, she realised, past her. “We can go home. That’s all that matters. I should go and tell Ron. Finally, some good news to tell him.”

“It might not be so easy.” She tried to say, tried to explain, but he wasn’t listening. He already started walking back towards the cabin, undoubtedly to share the good news with Ron, even though they weren’t good at all - how were they supposed to get into the Ministry?

“We better go after him,” she said. “Before he gets too excited.”

Ron said nothing. Neither did Harry. They walked back to the cabin. 

They got there just in time to see Dean punch Harry - the Other Harry, as Hermione was already calling him in her mind. 

Ron and Neville both jumped to drag the two of them from one another. Ron pulled Dean to one corner of the room, while the Other Harry, once he made sure his nose wasn’t broken, took a step in Dean’s direction, only to be restrained by Neville. 

“It’s his fault,” Dean said in anger. “And he doesn’t even give a damn. You don’t care she’s dead, do you?” he shouted at Harry.

“No,” the Other Harry answered coldly. “I don’t give a damn. I’ve had enough of this place, and I’ve had enough of _you_. Don’t pin this me on, mate, because you all went along with it and you all decided to stay when I told you to leave. Wasn’t that what you said? We don’t understand your ridiculous sense of loyalty - no, get off me,” he tried to shake Neville off now. “You stayed with me and Ron in Hogsmeade out of some ridiculous sense of loyalty but don’t expect me to feel the same thing, not with you people.”

“What the bloody hell is going on?!” Ron asked now, staring at this new Harry in amazement. Harry had finally managed to shake Neville off and was now storming in the other direction - only to run into _their_ Harry. 

He froze in place. The two Harrys stared at each other for a while, none of them saying a word. Harry - their Harry - sent a hesitant hand to the stranger’s head, removed the fringe from his forehead, as if to check that the lightning-bolt scar was really there. The Other Harry shook him off as well. 

“I don’t know any of you,” he declared. “And I don’t owe anything to any of you. Now fuck off the lot of you, I need to see how Ron is,” and all the while he was staring at Harry. But, having finished his declaration, he turned back and went to the back room of the cabin where, presumably, there was another Ron.

Ron let go of Dean. Hermione was afraid that Dean was going to chase the Other Harry down to the back room, but he just sat back in his chair, looking defeated. 

“Can someone - please - explain to me what the hell is going on here?” Ron asked again.

Dean sat in his corner, fuming in silence. Anthony made his way to Neville, and hugged him for a long while. Padma was staring at the door, the shock still evident on her face. Luna was the only one to speak.

She told them how, when Hermione and the rest didn’t return from the Ministry, they realised something must have gone wrong. How they broke into the Ministry and reached the cells, only to find _these_ Ron and Harry in them, with no sign of Neville and Hermione, and how, after a while, they realised something odd had happened, and all their attempts since to infiltrate the Ministry, until their disastrous failure at Hogsmeade.

There was silence in the room when she finished talking. The four of them - Hermione, Ron, Neville and Harry - their Harry - stared at each other, completely at a loss. After a while, Hermione averted her gaze, only to look at the closed door to the other room, where the two strangers were. Then she stood up.

Before she went there, however, she stopped next to Padma. “Padma...” she whispered. “I’m so so sorry.” Padma didn’t react. Hermione waited for a bit longer, then nodded and continued. Padma will talk - eventually.

She opened the door without knocking. Neither Ron nor Harry turned to look at her.

Seeing them felt so much like the world she had left behind, and for a moment, her heart ached and the feeling of rebellion rose in her again. But that world never had a Harry, nor did it have a Ron anymore, and here they were, just like the two sitting back in the large room, and yet - so, so different.

Harry’s appearance was the most obvious difference. When she looked at him, walking around with some bottles of potions and trying to figure out something to help Ron, she couldn’t understand how Dean and the rest hadn’t seen it immediately, hadn’t realised it when they were still in the cell.

It wasn’t just the jet black hair, or that it was shorter than her Harry’s hair and looked less like a mane, if still just as untidy as it had ever been. He had more weight on, too, she was sure. And most of all, he handled himself with more confidence than she’d seen in Harry for years - barring one morning. He wasn’t taller, of course, but he seemed taller than the Harry she knew, even as he walked crouched between the cupboards and the bed and knelt next to the bed and helped Ron drink some of the potion. He carried himself differently. He looked at the word differently.

Ron, too, looked different, although in his case the differences were less obvious, more subtle. But she knew. It was, perhaps, the expression on his face, more than anything. Yes, this Ron was pale and ill and recovering from a terrible curse and completely in shock, but in his eyes she saw the hope that Ron had lost all those years ago. Some humour and goofiness she had not seen in such a long time. 

Ron finally noticed her. He choked on his drink for a moment, but Harry held his hand, made sure he didn’t spill any of it. “Don’t pay attention to them,” he said. “Just drink this, you need to get better.”

“Not Dean,” Ron said. She knew him well enough to hear he was in pain, from his quiet voice, from the way he drew his breath irregularly. This Ron was not so different from her own Ron. “Hermione.”

Harry turned around now, looked at her for a moment, then turned back to Ron. “Doesn’t matter. Drink this, it will help.”

Ron nodded, then took some of the potion. Harry had to help him finish the goblet. He stayed crouched next to the bed until Ron’s breathing became regular and his face relaxed. He was asleep.

Only then did Harry get up. He washed the goblet in the small basin and put it upside down to dry. “What do you want?” he asked coldly, his back still turned to her.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hermione asked.

“He caught a nasty curse from a Death Eater.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Ron’s body language she could read in an instant, whichever one it was. But this Harry was so different from the Harry she knew, that she didn’t think she could understand him at all. 

“Harry,” she tried, “can you look at me for a moment? Please?”

He turned around. The old scar was still there - on his forehead, she could see it, even though he was wearing his hair in what looked like a pointless attempt to hide it with his fringe. A lot like he did at school, she thought, and couldn’t stop the smile. “I see you’re still trying to stop people from staring at your scar.”

He didn’t reply. He studied her, silently, his arms crossed. They looked at each other in silence.

“Is he going to be alright?” she asked when she got tired of glaring.

“He’s going to make it. Until the next time we run into Death Eaters, at least.” Harry’s clipped tones spoke of nothing but hostility. Was he blaming the rest of them for Ron’s condition?

“The others... they told me what happened.”

“Oh? Did they also tell you how they killed Gregory Goyle?”

“Don’t you judge us, Harry Potter, don’t you dare judge us! Not after they stayed - for you! - and you can’t even muster sympathy for Parvati who died for you!” They were shouting at each other now. Ron had gone out of both of their minds as each of them was thinking of their own frustration. 

“I never asked them to stay!” he shouted in return. “And a fat lot of good it did everyone, too!”

“You don’t - you can’t - you don’t know! We’ve survived because we’re loyal to each other and because we care for each other and we just had the opportunity to stay in this wonderful place where everything’s alright and everyone’s still alive and we left and we left for them and don’t you dare judge us!” 

She stood there, seconds from cursing him, but as he watched her, his expression changed. The anger disappeared, his face softened, and then he walked to her and hugged her. And she hugged him back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

“Now you show sympathy,” she said, but without any real malice. He chuckled in response, and when he let go, he looked almost friendly.

“Can we start over?” he asked.

“Sure. Hi, I’m Hermione Granger.”

He laughed. After she raised her eyebrows to signal her anticipation, he said, “Alright, alright. Hello, Hermione Granger. I’m Harry Potter.”

“I know.”

“Oh? And how do you know?”

“You’re kinda famous. And you’re doing a very poor job of hiding your scar.”

He stopped for a moment. She thought she might have said something wrong, that he was angry again, but then they both started laughing at the exact same time, in perfect sync, like the oldest of friends. 

“How did you manage to get back here?” he asked once the laughter had died down.

“It’s, uh - there’s this Muggle device. That was what brought us here in the first place. The Muggles, they didn’t really know what they were doing, but the Ministry could locate it - Dumbledore said it interfered with magic or something. I didn’t really understand,” she admitted. “We must have accidentally activated it when we went to release Neville and - ”

“I am going to kill them!” Harry groaned.

“What?” she asked, startled.

“Oh - no, not you - no, no. That must have been how we ended up here. The Department of Mysteries had an accident... I don’t even know what they were doing there on Christmas Eve! But they called everyone in, to help clear the area, and Ron and I... we must have been too close. When it went off.”

“So you ended up here.”

“Yeah. So what we need - do you have it on you?”

She shook her head. “It’s not - you can’t take it with you. You’ll need the one the Ministry has here.”

“Which means we really have to get into the Ministry.” He swore. “We’ve tried, Hermione, we’ve tried, we did everything, every way I can think of.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s impossible without someone to help you from inside the Ministry.”

“Is that how you got in there? When you went in to save Neville?” he asked. “Did you have help from inside the Ministry?”

She nodded.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for? Why can’t you talk to them again? Why can’t we get their help? Why didn’t Dean and the others say anything?!”

“Didn’t - didn’t Dean tell you that? It was a friend of Anthony’s, but - Harry, they killed him. When Dean and the others broke in to save us and found - ”

“And found us instead,” Harry finished the sentence and swore again. “So we’re stuck here. We either find a different way in, or we’re stuck here.”

“I’m afraid so.”

He walked away now, and sat on Ron’s bed. Even in his sleep, Ron was obviously still in pain. His face was contorted, and he was opening and closing his mouth, as if in a silent cry of pain. Hermione walked towards them, and sat on the bed next to Harry.

“He and I... are we...”

“Married five years,” Harry said quietly. “You’ve got a little girl, Rose. And there’s another boy on the way.”

“That must be nice,” she said quietly. She couldn’t even picture the idea of a family. It sounded like he was talking about someone else, some stranger, not about her. She looked at him some more, and thought of the Ron who was waiting for her on the other side of the door. “We should let him rest,” she said finally.

He looked at the door in trepidation, but eventually got up. They joined the rest of the group.

The first thing Harry did was crouch in front of Padma, like he did before with Ron. He put his hand on hers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Padma nodded without a word. “Do you want anything?” he asked. She shook her head. “Alright. But if you need anything, anything at all, just tell me, okay?” He didn’t leave her side until she nodded, and then he said, “Okay,” and got up. 

She saw he threw a quick look at Harry and Ron, but then walked past them to the small kitchen and put some water in the kettle. Neville got up to help him. Harry glanced at him for a moment as well - perhaps worried it might be Dean - then continued messing around. “What is this place, anyway?” he asked with his back turned to them.

“Oh, it’s - there was a sign in front of our house,” Hermione could feel her face reddening. It seemed silly - but it shouldn’t, not when this place had saved their lives. Her voice became strong again. “I rented it - just in case we needed a hideout outside London, in case there was some emergency.”

“Good thinking,” Neville said. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Probably saved our lives.”

And with that, the shock of the meeting, of the separation, had disappeared. She found herself embraced, from Dean to Anthony to Luna, and even Padma got up and they hugged, and Ron and Neville as well, and only Harry stood slightly apart from them, looking at the rest of them.

 _Both_ Harrys - the new Harry was in the small kitchen, watching them as well. When the small reunion had ended, Dean turned to him and swallowed. 

“Sorry,” he said. “About your nose.”

“S’alright,” Harry said.

“And for shouting at you.”

“It’s okay. I was being - ”

“Insufferable as usual, yeah, but it’s no excuse,” Dean said. 

“Yeah... Come on, I’ll get you some tea. I think Hermione even got some biscuits here.”

**29th December, 2010, 12:40 p.m.**

_Don’t tell anyone else. If they’re there, if we have to say goodbye... we’ll never leave._

Hermione opened her eyes to the darkness. The memory of her words to Dumbledore was still fresh in her mind. She was the one who told him quietly, privately, that they had to leave as soon as possible, without a word to the others. She felt now the same despair as she felt back then when he nodded and said that he thought so, too. 

But she knew where she was going, she told herself. There was no time for self pity. No time for longing for a world they had left behind. She got up from the mattress. 

It couldn’t have been long after noon, she knew. She didn’t feel refreshed at all, and all around her, people were still sleeping. The room itself was dark. It wasn’t meant for living, and especially not for such a large number of people. The man who had rented the orchard to her said it was just a small cabin, if she had to stay after a long day’s work. She had no intention of working in the orchard, of course, but she didn’t tell him that. She took it because it was better than nothing, because it was far away, because there was no reason to think the Ministry will ever search for them there. 

Hermione looked for Ron in the darkness. With only two rooms - one of them occupied by the other Ron - there was no chance of privacy, of course, but she still wanted to find him. She knew she had to talk to him. 

A quick survey of the room confirmed that he wasn’t there. Could he possibly be in the other room, she wondered. Could he have possibly gone to the same place as - the other one? No, she thought. Not Ron. Harry, perhaps... but not Ron. 

She grabbed a coat and walked outside.

He was there, sitting at a fire that was burning much more merrily than it had any business to. She walked up to him and sat by his side.

“Well, I’ll give you that,” he broke the silence, “you were right that we had to hurry. Had we waited any longer, there would have been no one left to save.” His voice was full of anger. Anger at the world, she knew, that was, just for a bit, masquerading as anger at her. It still filled her with guilt and pain to hear it.

“We would have spent the rest of our lives there thinking about them,” she answered, refusing to accept the guilt. She missed that world already too. 

“You know, I think I could have lived with that.”

“When we get to the Ministry, after we send Ha - after we send the two of them back where they came from, maybe we could test it. See if we can go back to that world.” 

Ron’s laughter was mirthless and angry. “We’re not going to get to the Ministry. We’re not going to get to Malfoy. Have you been shutting your eyes and ears all these years, Hermione? It’s not going to work.” He got up. His expression was harsh and uncompromising. “We’re stuck in this hell, and now they’re stuck in this hell too, and no one’s getting out.”

She didn’t go after him. All of a sudden, sitting here in the snow felt less cold than being in any room with Ron.

**29th December, 2010, 4:20 p.m.**

“Shh, you’ll wake him up.”

“It’s late.”

“He didn’t sleep for like, three days or so.”

“Why on earth not? I had an excuse, I was imprisoned by Voldemort. What’s his excuse?”

“Dunno...”

“My excuse is that prats like you are waking me up all the time,” Harry muttered, his eyes still closed. Someone smirked. Could have been Neville. Probably was Goldstein. He opened his eyes, rubbed them for a moment, trying to force them to stay open. He felt like he could just close them again and sleep forever. All he wanted to do was fall asleep again. Fall asleep, and perhaps he’ll dream of Ginny.

He forced his eyes to open. He’ll get that chance sooner than he wished, he knew.

Harry surveyed the room. Ron - the other Ron, he assumed - was sitting in one corner. He noticed Hermione was sitting at another. Padma was still staring at the window, Dean and Luna at her side. Neville and Anthony had just sat on the same chintz sofa he had Transfigured earlier, when he pointed out he was too worn out to sleep on a mattress. They were both holding bowls full of hot - something. Probably soup. 

Harry felt the bile rise in his throat as soon as the thought of food crossed his mind. It might be the last chance he ever had at eating something, but he couldn’t think of food now. Instead, he sent his hand to his pocket and checked that the stone was still there.

His gaze fell on the other one. 

He couldn’t call him ‘Harry’. Not really. _He_ was Harry. If there was one thing he was sure of in that entire damned world, it was that he was Harry. But the other one was Harry too. 

And the other one was looking at him. He held his gaze for a moment too long, then turned back to Anthony and Neville. “What’s with him?” he muttered.

“Same as you, I imagine,” Anthony said dryly. 

Harry’s eyes were drawn back to the other one, only to discover the man’s eyes never left him. 

“Leave him alone,” Anthony said. “He’s had a rough time lately, from what Neville said.”

“Yeah, and we haven’t?” Harry asked, but tore his gaze away from the man. It was for the best, he knew. Anger rose in him every time he saw his counterpart. But it wasn’t his fault. 

Other people joined them on the sofa - Hermione, and after another moment - Ron, he supposed. Ron - at least until the real Ron woke up.

“Hey,” Ron said, somewhat nervous. He sounded so much like Ron. The nervousness at this new, impossible situation was so much like Ron. If he just closed his eyes, Harry knew, it would _be_ Ron. 

“Hey,” he said, his eyes wide open.

“We didn’t want to wake you up,” Ron said in a somewhat apologetic voice.

“Thanks. I wasn’t really sleeping, just nodding off. I guess.”

“Is he...” And becoming a bit incoherent when he was wrong-footed, just like Ron.

“I gave him something for the pain, so he could sleep it off,” Harry explained. “Madam Pomfrey brought some potions, but they’re all back at the Three Broomsticks, so I did what I could here. But she said if he just got some rest he should be alright.”

“Oh.” Ron’s cheeks turned bright red. “Good.”

They both stared at their fingers for a while. 

“Well, this is awkward,” Harry said at last. Ron’s laughter was full of relief. “Tell me about all the people you saw there,” he said all of a sudden, hungry for some good news. “In that other world. Hermione said earlier they were all alive, Sirius and Remus and Dumbledore and - ”

“And your parents,” Ron completed.

“Yeah.”

“So they’re all dead in your world, too?”

“They didn’t survive the war.” He felt guilty, saying it like that. No, they didn’t survive the war, they were all dead, but... _But_. Their sacrifice had helped Harry win the war, helped him defeat Voldemort. So many other people were alive, that here were dead. 

“It was... strange,” Ron admitted. “Although, for all I know, your world’s strange too.”

“Nah, my world’s normal. It’s this place that’s mental.” None of them laughed. Ron shot a glance at Hermione, but if something crossed his mind, he kept it to himself

“When did Dumbledore die?” Hermione asked tentatively. “In your world?”

“End of sixth year,” Harry explained to them about Snape and the curse and the Horcruxes. He needn’t have bothered - they already knew the story.

“And then at Bill and Fleur’s wedding - ”

“Hold on,” Ron stopped him, frowning. “Voldemort took over during Bill and Fleur’s wedding?”

“Yeah.”

“But that happened here, too.”

Now the other - Harry - was listening in, as well. They were all looking at Harry. “Why is that such a surprise?” Harry asked.

“I thought - I was sure - But if he took over, how did you win?!” Ron demanded. 

“Well, we knew about the Horcruxes - ”

“Yeah, we did too, we spent all that winter hunting for the damn things - ”

“Yeah, exactly, we found the locket on Umbridge and you - well, you - ”

Ron’s face reddened. “I still left?” He asked quietly. “I still ran away?” There was something ironic about that. After all they’ve been through in that world, that Ron would still feel guilty about that, so long ago. It made Harry wonder whether his Ron - the _real_ Ron - whether the Ron he knew still felt guilty about it as well.

“You still came back,” he tried. Ron turned an even stronger shade of red.

Hermione, however, was already thinking of the rest of their adventures. “And then the cup at Gringotts - you also broke into Gringotts? and the diadem at Hogwarts - you still went to Hogwarts?”

“And Voldemort came after us, yeah.”

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, incredulous. “But how did you win?!” she demanded of him, as if his very presence offended her. “This is exactly what we did! This is exactly what happened with us! How did you manage to defeat him?!”

Harry scratched at his scar absently. He only stopped when he realised the other one was doing the exact same thing. The other one realised a second later, and his hand froze comically above his own scar. They looked at each other, and suddenly Harry understood.

“Who was it?” he asked him - the other one.

“Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix. This was the great secret? This was where his life went right? Sheer dumb luck? One sister, rather than the other? How close did he come to the other one’s fate! How close did his world come to this nightmare, this hell, and he never even realised, not until now.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said.

Harry looked at the other one, and the other one shrugged, as if saying - you explain. He nodded. “I had to go to him,” Harry explained. “I had to turn myself in. My scar.”

“You were a Horcrux too, yes, we know that,” Hermione cut him short, impatient to hear how her life went so wrong, as if the most terrible experience in Harry’s life meant nothing at all. As he looked at her, he thought he couldn’t really begrudge her that attitude.

“He, uh, after he hit me with the Killing Curse, it affected him too. Because of all the - well, all the mess he created. Wands and blood ties and Horcruxes. He was too afraid to check whether I was dead himself. He sent...” he faltered. “In your world, he sent Bellatrix Lestrange to check up and she told him he - I - Harry was alive.

“In my world it was Narcissa Malfoy. And all she cared about was seeing Draco again and making sure he was alright. And she knew there was one way to make sure of that. If they all marched, right there and then, to Hogwarts, and there was no chance of continuing the battle. 

“So she lied. She told him I was dead. She saved my life. She did - God, she did so much more than that, didn’t she.” She saved him. She saved the world. Narcissa Malfoy. 

He’d have to buy her flowers when he got back. It would kill him, probably, but he would have to go and buy her flowers or something. _If_ he got back. He looked again at the other one - at Harry - the one whose fate was so much worse than his. One sister, rather than the other, and here was a wreck of a man, something Harry _could_ have been, if he’d been less lucky. 

Something Harry could still be.

It wasn’t fair. To any of them.

Fear threatened to paralyse him. He didn’t want to look at the other one anymore - he couldn’t look at him. He didn’t want to look at Ron and Hermione, either. He didn’t want to look at Neville and Anthony and Dean and Padma and Luna. He felt the weight of the stone in his pocket, mocking him, so he took it out to have something to stare at, then started to play with it, tossing it up and down, then catching it again, trying not to listen to the conversation around him.

But he couldn’t block it out. He couldn’t help but listen, how they were mourning all over again, now that they realised how the world they lived in had been ruined by sheer chance. 

Up and down, the stone went, up and down, and he stared at it all the more intently. 

“You know what my mum always used to say,” Ron said at last. “No point crying over spilt potion. We need to figure out how to continue from here.”

Up and down, up and down. He caught the stone, hesitated, then threw it in the air again. Up and down, up and down. 

“Don’t take it the wrong way, mate, but we don’t have any more contacts in the Ministry, and breaking in there without it would be suicide,” he told Harry. 

Up and down, up and down.

“Potter knows,” Anthony said roughly. “We’ve already lost good people there.”

Up and down, up and down. Harry tried to speak, but he couldn’t find his voice.

“We need to set up a new base,” Hermione said in a business-like voice. “We need to lie low for a bit. They’re bound to be looking for us now, after your stunt at Hogsmeade. We’ll have to stay away for a while.”

Up and down, up and down. 

“We could stay here,” someone suggested, but Hermione shot him down.

“No, it’s not very well equipped. It’s an emergency base, not a place for all of us to live in. We need - we can’t go back to London, can we? Maybe another big city, one that doesn’t have such tight restrictions?”

“We could try Birmingham.”

“Or Manchester, I don’t think there’s a lot of wizards in Manchester, could buy us some time.”

“And then what? We start fighting Malfoy all over again? But he has his hit-wizards and his Death Eaters and we can’t even get into the Ministry.”

“There is a way into the Ministry,” Harry finally managed. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. So far away. He tossed the stone one last time. Up - and down. And then he stopped. He clutched the stone in his hand, drawing strength from the pressure in his palm. “There’s always been a way into the Ministry.”

They looked at each other before they looked at him. Parallel world or not, he knew that expression well enough. They thought he had lost his mind.

“What are you talking about, Potter?” Anthony asked.

He opened his palm. 

“What - the stone? The stone can’t get us into the Ministry. It doesn’t work that way. It has to be activated inside the area before Apparition, I thought Ab Dumbledore explained this to you!”

“No,” they heard a new voice. An old voice. Ron’s voice. The real Ron. He stood at the doorway to his small room, wrapped in a blanket, and as Harry looked in his eyes he knew that, of all of them, Ron understood. “You can’t.”

“What are you talking about?!”

“The stone was originally used by the Ministry to Apparate into Azkaban,” Harry explained. “Stan Shunpike - or whoever was the guard there - would turn it on, it’d give a signal in the Ministry, and they’d Apparate.”

“I know how it works, Potter.”

“We haven’t been able to take on the Ministry because we can’t get past the Atrium. That wasn’t a problem for you guys because your contact got you through, and once you were in, you could do whatever the hell you wanted, even break out prisoners from within the cells themselves.”

“I know that too, Potter. What’s your point?”

“My point is that we can’t get to the Ministry from the Atrium. But we can - if we can Apparate straight inside the Ministry.”

Now they understood. Hermione gasped. Ron - the other Ron - stared at him in shock. Even Anthony covered his mouth.

“If I get inside the Ministry and activate the stone, you guys could Apparate in,” he finished. 

“He’ll kill you,” Ron - _his_ Ron - said. “As soon as you show your face there. They’ll kill you. You’ll never get the chance.”

“No. They’ll kill anyone else. But you heard what Malfoy said. He wants me alive. He won’t kill me.” That was it, wasn’t it. Malfoy wanted him alive. Of all the others. 

“You’ll never get the chance to operate it. You can’t waltz in there with the stone activated!” Ron was now raising his voice, and becoming paler and paler, and Harry was starting to get worried that his friend was overtaxing himself, that the curse would take its toll. “That’s what happened the last time we went to the Ministry! They’ll never give you a wand! You’ll never get the chance! If you walk in there, you won’t walk out!”

“All I need is three seconds. Three seconds with a wand. Surely I’ll be able to steal Malfoy’s wand - or one of the guards’ - or something.”

“You can’t do that!” Ron swayed and his face contorted in pain. Harry jumped to catch him and led him to the sofa. The only available place was next to the other Ron. The other Ron jumped and moved closer to Hermione, as if afraid to be too close to Ron. Harry couldn’t really blame him - but that wasn’t the topic now.

“It can’t be anyone else, Ron,” he said quietly. “And if we don’t do that, we’re stuck here. Who knows for how long. Maybe forever. And I can’t do that. I’d rather take my chances with the Ministry.”

“You can’t let him do it,” Ron appealed to the rest of them.

But, as Harry had hoped - and, perhaps, dreaded - none of them came to Ron’s rescue. Hermione looked at her fingernails. The other Ron looked at Luna. Luna bit her lips and studied Harry. Padma and Dean looked at each other, and Padma curled into her chair further. Neville looked at Ron for a moment, then averted his gaze. Anthony shifted uncomfortably.

The other Harry stared at Harry, unblinking.

“Well?” Ron demanded. 

“He’s right,” Hermione said finally, her voice small and weak. “That’s the best chance you two have at going home. We’ll be happy to have you here - ” she shook her head, as if remembering something particularly ironic. “But if you want to go back where you belong, we don’t know of any way to get you there. That’s the best option.”

“Think of Hermione, Ron,” Harry said quietly, and finally met his best friend’s eyes, his brother-in-law. “Think of Rose.” Next to him, Hermione recoiled unintentionally. 

“And what about Ginny?” Ron demanded. “What if something goes wrong?” 

“Then you’ll come after me,” Harry said, and did his best to believe it. Slowly, reluctantly, Ron nodded. Harry allowed himself to breathe. One obstacle removed. 

But an unexpected obstacle appeared, as it became obvious that Ron had agreed. “Don’t do it,” someone said, and it sounded so much like Harry himself that it took him a moment to realise it _was_ him - it was the other one. “If you go in there...” the man’s green eyes pierced Harry. He tried to look away, look at Ron, at Hermione, at anyone else, but the other one stood up and crossed the few steps between them in a second, then grabbed his face and forced him to look at him.

Harry studied the face in front of him, so much like the one he saw in the mirror every day - and yet, so very different: the deep lines, the grey in the hair, and the eyes - those green eyes, full of despair and pain.

“Look at me,” the other one said, and Harry looked at him. And now that he looked, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “Take a good look,” the other one said. Finally, he let go of him. “Don’t do it.”

But it wasn’t an option. “Maybe I’ll be lucky again,” he said. “Maybe I’ll draw the long straw again.” The other one looked at him in disgust. Harry shook his head, then got up, and stashed the stone in his pocket.

“You’re not going - now?!” Both Rons said at the same time.

“Well, once Hermione shows me how to connect that stone so that you’d know when it’s activated, yes. No point in postponing the inevitable.” And if I don’t go soon, I may never go at all, he didn’t say.

Hermione finished her own magic in two minutes. He was ready in another three. He looked at them - all of them - and paused only when his gaze fell on Ron. “I’ll see you in no time,” he told his best and oldest friend.

“You better,” Ron’s voice was shaking slightly.

“If I don’t - ” Harry hesitated. “Tell Ginny...”

Ron nodded. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

They just stood there and looked at each other. “Wish me luck,” Harry said at last and turned on the spot.

**29th December, 2010, 7:10 p.m.**

The security guard raised his eyes for a moment, then looked back to finish the article in the _Daily Prophet_ , when all of a sudden he realised who it was his eyes saw. He froze, clutched his wand, and only then looked up again.

The man in front of him smiled. “Hi. I’m Harry Potter. I’m here to see Draco Malfoy.”


	9. Simple Human Kindness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: torture.

The surface was hard and uncomfortable and cold, so cold. His fingers traced a line, that then broke and zig-zagged and met with another line, and another. There was no obvious order to them, but if he followed the line long enough he thought he could make out a rectangle. Stone tiles. Some sort of floor.

Harry opened his eyes to complete darkness. 

There was no light in the room. No small window with bars on it. No hatch on the door. No lightbulb above. There wasn’t even a crack where the door met the floor. He had no idea how long he’d been in this cell. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there, unconscious. He was stiff and freezing, shivering with the cold, and his head was throbbing and every single bone in his body ached. He had no idea how he got there or where ‘there’ was.

He tried pulling himself up. Perhaps if he could walk around the room, figure out its size... perhaps he’d find something more comfortable than the cold stone floor. As soon as he sat up it was as if his head exploded. He sent a hand gingerly to the most painful area, right above his ear, and met with some hardened substance - congealed blood, most likely, he knew. The clothes he was wearing were damp and freezing, and he wondered how much of that was blood as well.

He was shivering in earnest now. Movement hadn’t warmed him one bit - if anything, he felt colder. He had no way of knowing how much of that was the room and how much of that was the blood loss. But he couldn’t stay on that floor. 

Biting his lips so that he won’t cry in pain, he started feeling around for something - anything - to move to, any area that was less cold. His hands met something - a bench? a bunk? - but it was made of wood and not stone and he tried pulling himself up. He had to stop twice, control his breathing again before he tried, but eventually he managed to climb on the - bench, he decided. It was too small to be a bunk, almost too small for him. His mouth was dry and his head was throbbing worse than before, but it was too much effort to search for water so he curled down on the wooden bench and lost consciousness again.

He woke with a start - minutes? hours? days? - later in the darkness, and all of a sudden he remembered. The stone. It was still there. He could feel its weight in his pocket, but he sent his hand anyway, to feel it, to touch it, to make it real. A small pebble in his pocket which they hadn’t found. His way to freedom. Now all he needed was a wand, for just three seconds. He curled back on the bench.

He wasn’t thirsty anymore. Someone was pouring water down his throat, and he was drinking and drinking. It was getting too much and all of a sudden he couldn’t breathe and started coughing and a familiar voice said, “Watch it, don’t make him choke.”

When did someone else get into the room? He opened his eyes. There was light now, and a huge wizard with an ugly smirk was moving back. With the eyes of a well-trained Auror he scanned the room in a second. The door was to his right, a heavy metal door, one that could not be opened from the inside, not without a wand. A red blotch on the stone floor - where he must have found himself earlier, he had no idea how long ago. And the wooden bench was the only thing in the room - no basin, no bed, nothing.

Behind the huge wizard he could see - Draco Malfoy, in heavy black robes. Holding his wand.

A wand! He lunged at Malfoy, hoping beyond hope to grab the wand from him, for just three seconds, for just _two_. He fell on the floor and the pain rushed through him. He didn’t hear Malfoy speak the words but he knew the curse well enough. He managed to hold perhaps ten seconds before the pain was too much and he screamed and screamed but Malfoy didn’t lift the Cruciatus curse, didn’t stop. His entire body was on fire, his head must have split in two right along his scar, and it went on and on. He was thrashing on the floor, trying to find escape from the agony, but none came. Stop, he tried to say, but he didn’t know if his voice was coming out at all, if he managed to form any coherent words. Stop, make it stop, end this, please, just end this, just kill me, stop, and the pain went on and on and on. 

When he woke up it was dark again and he was alone.

He could taste blood in his mouth. He must have bit himself. He wanted to find the bench again, to lift himself from the freezing floor, but he couldn’t find the energy to do it, couldn’t find the strength to move. He closed his eyes.

When did he find his way to the bench? Did he manage, in the end, and just didn’t remember it? It was definitely wood, underneath his fingers. But he could see even through his closed eyes that there was light in the room again. He wasn’t alone anymore. Did they put him up there? He opened his eyes to see Malfoy studying him, in his heavy black robes. He didn’t jump at that hated face again. Didn’t try to grab the wand - not yet. Later. He had time.

Malfoy’s mouth curled into an unpleasant smile. “Learning, are we? Good.”

Harry didn’t reply.

Malfoy took a step closer, his wand aimed at Harry. Out of instinct more than anything else, Harry backed to the wall. Malfoy paused, then inspected his wand. He looked at Harry again, still smiling his unpleasant smile, but didn’t step closer.

“Where am I?” Harry’s voice came out hoarse and heavy. His throat hurt when he spoke.

“In a Ministry facility,” Malfoy answered. “Somewhere near Edinburgh. You’ll forgive me if I don’t give you any more details.”

“Edinburgh?” Harry repeated. “But I was - I came - we were in the Ministry. In London.”

“That was five days ago, Potter.”

Five days? Could it really have been that long? Harry wanted to believe that no, it was impossible, but he knew that he had no way of knowing. It might very well have been five days. But that would mean - would the others wait this long before they came for him? And if he really had been removed from the Ministry, was that because they had tried - and failed - to free him?

“Ah, yes,” Malfoy said in his usual sneer. “Your friends. Such loyalty. They did try and come after you.”

 _Try_? “What happened?”

“You proved quite an excellent bait, Potter. I should commend you for it. We tried to wake you for the execution yesterday, but you proved quite...” Malfoy looked at his wand again, “- stubborn, shall we say?”

No. Can’t be. He was lying. Malfoy was lying. Harry still had the stone, and if he could just get the wand, just activate it, the rest of them will come, Ron will come...

“ _Crucio_ ,” Malfoy’s voice was almost gentle.

Harry opened his eyes. The soft light of dawn entered into the room from the high, barred window. He felt exhausted, like he hadn’t slept at all. His head was pounding. And he was so, so thirsty. 

He noticed a tap at the corner. He crawled to the tap and tried to pull himself up, using the basin as leverage. It took him so long, it could have been an eternity before he was high enough to spin the dial at the top of the tap. One, two... a few drops of water came out and they were the best thing he’d ever tasted. 

When he finally quenched his thirst, he looked at the room. It was different from the one where they held him before. The door was smaller and wooden. There was a barred hatch at the end. He took one tentative step towards the door, then a second, thinking he might be able to see what was outside. But his legs shook underneath him so violently that he knew he would never make it that far. There was no bench in this room, but the heap of straw in the corner looked so inviting that he crawled there and fell asleep again.

When he opened his eyes, the darker light of dusk came through the window. He slept the entire day, but he didn’t feel refreshed at all. He felt as if he slept only minutes. He was still so, so exhausted. And he was thirsty again. 

Someone shoved a glass of water into his hand and told him, “Drink.” He drank without question, until the water had all but run out. Only then did he raise his eyes to see Malfoy, the collar of his black robes open. 

Could he use the glass as a weapon? Break it on Malfoy’s face? Then what? Grab his wand and Apparate? Could he Apparate from here? If he turned the stone on, could he do it? And Apparate where? Now that they’re all dead...

“Why did you keep me alive?” he asked. His voice was still hoarse, his throat still painful.

Malfoy looked at him in confusion. “You offered yourself up to us, Potter,” he said.

“After you executed the others.”

“Executed - what?”

“Ron... and Hermione... and...”

Understanding dawned on Malfoy’s face. “Are they coming after you?” he asked. “Is this some sort of plan? Well, I’m sorry to say, Potter, but they’re not going to find you. We’re not in London anymore.”

“But... you said... you killed them! You said they came after me! You said...” he started coughing, the pain in his throat stronger and stronger.

Malfoy looked at him with growing confusion. “Potter, this is the first time in the three days since you got here you’ve been lucid enough to have any sort of conversation. I haven’t talked to you since we finished our little chat at my office in the Ministry. Although I definitely would have liked to execute your annoying little friends. If you just told me where they are...”

He looked sincere. He sounded sincere. But Harry remembered, he remembered that other cell, he remembered Malfoy’s words, he remembered the pain. 

“You said five days,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

“Last time. You said it’s been five days. Not three.”

“It’s the first of January, Potter. It’s been three days.”

“You said five.”

Malfoy sighed. “I’m growing tired of this nonsense. If you insist on talking, perhaps you could tell me where your friends are hiding?”

“I’m not...” Harry stared at him. What was going on? It must have been a nightmare, he realised. The dark cell and the execution. He must have dreamt it all. “I’m not going to tell you a thing,” he said at last.

Malfoy looked almost regretful. “I really hoped you wouldn’t say that, Potter,” he said, and aimed his wand at Harry. The glass shattered in his hand as the pain took over. 

There was the smell of blood everywhere. Going into Harry’s nostrils and taking over his thoughts. And dampness - something warm trickled at the tip of his fingers. He was too tired to open his eyes or raise his head. He was too tired to see what it was. But it felt like water. The liquid was too thin to be blood, and would blood run so freely on the floor? He was so, so thirsty. He opened his mouth, just a bit. The water was disgusting, tasted old and foul. But it was better than nothing. 

After a while, he tried to move away from the water. There was straw here, wasn’t there? Somewhere. But when he opened his eyes the room was pitch black and he couldn’t see a thing. He tried to feel for the corner of the room, but all he felt was water and water and water. The water was freezing. If he didn’t get up, he’d freeze to death. He was too weak to pull himself away. All of a sudden he realised he was hungry, so hungry, but there was nothing to eat, nothing but the trickle of old freezing water. 

Perhaps somewhere else in the room? He forced himself to move away from the frozen puddle. He forced himself to lift his head before it, too, would freeze, together with the water. There should be straw here somewhere, he thought angrily, but there wasn’t, everywhere he crawled there was just frozen water and a cold stone floor. He wished there was some light there, he wished he could see. There wasn’t even a wooden bench, but then, the wooden bench had never been real, had it? He covered his head in his blood-soaked shirt and shivered until he lost consciousness again.

He woke up to see a pair of shoes next to him. They were fancy shoes. Made of black leather, and with an odd decoration at the tip. He looked up to see likewise heavy black robes, and Malfoy’s face peering at him with a disgusted expression from above.

“Good,” Malfoy said coldly. “You’re awake.”

Harry tried to crawl back, but slipped on the icy floor. “Where am I?” he asked. His voice was so hoarse that his question came out in barely a whisper.

“You’re in the Ministry, Potter. The same place you walked into twelve hours ago.” Malfoy looked amused. “Which was, pardon me for criticising, a very stupid thing to do. Very good for me, of course, but still. Very stupid.”

Twelve hours? Harry didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter. He was in the Ministry. All he had to do was activate the stone - he knew it was gone before he sent his hand to his pocket. He could feel - or rather, not feel it. There was no weight there, no oddly-shaped pebble. 

“You’re looking for this?” Malfoy flashed something before him. The stone. “Honestly, Potter, I’ve seen some bad plans, but this - this outdid them all. Your friends aren’t coming for you.”

Harry tried to reach for the stone, but his palm closed on empty air, as Malfoy moved away, laughing. His palm, which was crisscrossed with scars. A glass had shattered in his hand, he thought, but when did that happen?

“Now, we’ve got some things to discuss,” Malfoy said, ignoring Harry. His face contorted in disgust as he surveyed the cell. “And I really don’t fancy this place, so let’s make it fast, shall we? What were you trying to achieve?”

Harry stared at his palm. A glass shattering... it was a dream, wasn’t it?

“This is the fourth time you’ve broke into the Ministry in a week, Potter! What are you trying to get here? And this stupid plan - you wouldn’t have done it unless it was absolutely necessary!” Malfoy grabbed him, forced him up. Harry’s head throbbed in the side, where the congealed blood from his injury covered his ear. “What were you trying to do here?”

“It was an accident,” Harry tried to explain. “We shouldn’t be here at all.”

“No,” Malfoy agreed. “You shouldn’t.” He threw him back to the floor. Harry’s head hit the stone with a bang. He didn’t even hear the curse spoken before he closed his eyes. 

Malfoy was with him when he woke up. He heard his voice, giving orders. “Search the streets. The rest of them must be here,” he told someone. “Check every hiding place they’ve been to before. Check the Leaky Cauldron. Check anyone who’s a known sympathiser. Check anyone you even suspect, d’you hear me?” Harry nodded, wanted to say that he heard him, but he was too tired and the thick carpet was so comfortable, so he didn’t open his mouth.

“Potter,” now Malfoy was talking to him. Someone kicked him. “Potter!” 

He opened his eyes. He was in Kinglsey’s office at the Ministry. No, not Kingsley. Malfoy. That was the man who was standing over him now. Malfoy. He could see his shoes. Big leather shoes. And the edges of his black robes had stains on them. Where did the Minister for Magic walk?

“Potter!” Malfoy barked again. Harry raised his eyes to meet Malfoy’s glare. “We’re going to move you, Potter. Don’t think you’re going to stay here in place for your friends to come and rescue you.”

“Let me guess,” Harry said, and the words came out in a hoarse whisper. “A nameless facility near Edinburgh.”

Malfoy looked annoyed. “There are no Ministry facilities in or near Edinburgh, Potter. Stop talking nonsense. We’re moving you to Leeds.”

Harry laughed. It just seemed to annoy Malfoy more. “Your shoes are dirty,” he said. Malfoy stared at him. “And the hems of your robes.” 

His head was killing him. Throbbing and throbbing and throbbing. He brought his hand to scratch at the itching there but his hands were tied. So were his legs, he suspected. Even without his glasses on, he could see that there were scars on the palm of his hand.

“How many times did we have this conversation, Malfoy?” he asked. 

“What conversation, Potter?”

“I ask where am I, you give me some bogus information, you tell me some ridiculous number of days I’ve been here, then you start asking questions I have no intention of answering.”

“I think it’s pretty clear we’re in my office, Potter,” Malfoy said in irritation.

Harry just laughed. “What day is it?”

“What day - what’s wrong with you!”

“What day is it?”

“It’s Thursday!”

“Sure it is,” Harry just laughed again. 

“Get a Healer here,” Malfoy said to one of his unseen minions. “I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“May have used the Cruciatus curse once too many, Draco,” Harry offered his opinion. 

“I’ve got more important things to do, Potter,” Malfoy retorted. “I’m going to leave that to the guys up at Leeds.”

“Sure you are.”

“You will talk, Potter. Sooner or later.” Malfoy’s smile made him look like a shark. “They all talk, in the end.” He crouched on the carpet, next to Harry’s head, and moved his fringe a bit, revealing his scar. The tips of his fingers traced Harry’s scar, like the movement of lightning over his forehead. “I’m going to break you, Harry Potter,” he said quietly, and he sounded so sincere that Harry could find nothing to say. A shiver went down his spine. 

“Get him up, I need to have a look at him,” someone said. The Healer.

“Get up, Potter,” Malfoy said and stood up as well. Harry tried pulling himself up but couldn’t. In the end, someone grabbed him and forced him to stand. The throbbing in his head brought bile up his throat and dizziness and he swayed. Someone caught him. 

“That does it, that does it,” said the man. “Does he need to be tied up?”

“Yes,” Malfoy answered.

“Alright then, at least get rid of that disgusting shirt, I can’t see anything with it.”

Someone waved their wand and the shirt was ripped from Harry’s back. The spell was a bit stronger than planned - or, perhaps, not - and Harry could feel an angry itch on his back where a cut was made to his skin. 

The Healer stood in front of him perhaps five seconds, and then declared him ‘fine’. Harry could feel his dizziness growing. He thought he might vomit on the healer’s shoes. Or maybe on Malfoy’s.

“Give him something that would knock him out, though, will you?” Malfoy said in a bored tone. “I don’t want him waking up while we’re transferring him.”

“Of course, Minister,” the healer said, and forced a gobletful of potion down Harry’s throat. Harry tried to resist, but it was no use. He could feel the liquid trickling down his throat. The drowsiness and exhaustion that he had managed to keep at bay until that point took over. He closed his eyes.

The chill was in his bones even before he woke up on the cold stone floor, in complete darkness. He coughed and started to shiver. His mouth was so dry. He started feeling around, looking for something - anything - when his hand encountered a wooden pole. No, not a pole. A leg. A leg of a bench. He tried pulling himself up, but couldn’t. It just made him cough again, gasping for breath. He tried again, and failed again, and his bare arm fell to the floor. When did he lose his shirt? He tried to sit up, reduce contact with the freezing floor, and leaned on the leg of the bench. In the darkness, he wasn’t sure whether his eyes were opened or closed.

Someone kicked him. Poured a bucket of freezing water over his head. Harry was too tired to open his eyes. “Go away,” he mumbled. Someone kicked him again, and he was hit with the Cruciatus curse without warning. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

The curse was blissfully short this time. More water over his head and finally, he opened his eyes. Malfoy was sneering above his head. His shoes were filthy. 

“Wake up, Potter,” Malfoy said.

“Thought your boys in Leeds were going to do it,” Harry mumbled. He wasn’t sure where the idea of Leeds came from.

Malfoy was just as confused. “Leeds?” he asked, then sighed in mock exasperation. “Are we going to have to go through everything anew _every_ day? You’re in Edinburgh, Potter, Edinburgh. Just like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, and the two weeks before that. _Edinburgh_.”

“How long,” his voice came out in rasps.

“How long are we going to do it? As long as I want to,” Malfoy answered.

“Can’t - tell you - nothing.”

“I don’t need any information from you, Potter. Don’t you remember? Your little rebellion, all destroyed? Your friends screamed before they died, Potter. Screamed and screamed, just like you.”

“No,” he tried to shake his head, but it felt heavier than lead. 

“Do you want to see their bodies?” Malfoy asked cheerfully. “We still haven’t decided what to do with them. I thought of presenting them in the middle of Diagon Alley. Or perhaps in Hogsmeade, what do you say?”

“Lie,” Harry rasped. 

“Bring it in,” Malfoy ordered some unseen minion. He was pulled up, and a trolley was brought in front of him. Malfoy removed the sheet that covered it.

The first thing he saw was the mess of brown bushy hair. 

Hermione’s face was frozen in terror, the last expression before her death. Her mouth was wide open. She was screaming when she died, just like Malfoy said. 

“You know,” Malfoy said in a voice that communicated nothing but interest, “you didn’t scream nearly loud enough earlier. _Crucio_.” 

Eventually, Harry found his voice again.

His head was lying on something soft and comfortable. A warm hand was going over his hair. He was burning up, he knew, but a wet cold rag was washing his forehead. He opened his mouth, just a bit, hoping for the water to trickle from his burning forehead to his parched throat. His head was throbbing.

“Harry,” someone said. A pleasant voice. A woman. He knew her. “Drink this.” She held a goblet to his mouth. He drank greedily. She raised his head, so it would be easier. He didn’t think he could raise his head on his own.

Eventually, he turned his mouth away. Enough. The thirst still burned in him, but he didn’t think he could drink any more. 

“Harry, open your eyes,” she whispered. He opened them. Hermione. 

“How long?” he could barely get the words out.

“A couple of days,” she said. “Longer for you. You lasted three days before you started talking, Harry.”

“Five days,” he muttered.

“I don’t blame you,” she said with such sadness.

“Blame?”

“That you talked. You couldn’t - no one could keep quiet that long. And you... we should never have sent you, not after Voldemort.”

“Voldemort?” What was she talking about?

“After what Voldemort did to you. All that time. We should have known... I don’t blame you, Harry.”

“I didn’t...” he shook his head. He knew he didn’t say anything to Malfoy. “I didn’t talk.”

“You told him about the orchard,” she said sadly. “Ron’s dead. And Dean. I don’t know about Neville. I think he was still alive when I was captured. Padma...” she bit her lip. “It’s not your fault, Harry. No one could have lasted that long, least of all you.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he insisted. To his surprise, he found his voice again, despite the burn in his throat. “I didn’t tell him about the orchard.”

“It’s okay, Harry,” she just repeated, as if she didn’t hear him. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He tried to raise his head from her lap, to protest, to tell her it wasn’t him, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t move. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” she said again. “Just go back to sleep.”

He closed his eyes and gave in to sweet oblivion.

When he opened them again, he was alone.

**December 2010?**

The pain subsided. “Where are your friends?” The Death Eater shouted. Harry didn’t answer. More pain. “Where are they hiding?” the other Death Eater shouted. Harry shook his head. Pain. 

Then the pain lifted, and he could breathe again. The Death Eater aimed his wand at him, but a new voice was heard. Someone Harry knew. But he didn’t know where from.

“Hold on, we don’t want to kill him,” the voice said. Harry nodded. That was a sensible thing to say. He didn’t want to die, either. 

“How’s his heart?”

“Racing like mad.”

“Fever down?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Okay, let him rest for a bit. Hear that, Potter? We’re letting you rest.”

“Thanks,” he answered automatically.

The familiar voice laughed. “Well, well, the great Harry Potter has finally learned some manners. Do you need anything?”

“Water.”

A glass of water was shoved into his hand. Harry studied it for a moment. He thought he remembered this glass. Shattering in his hand. He looked at his palm. There were thin white lines there, like scars. But it can’t have been, because the glass was whole. Then his thirst took over and he drank the entire content of the glass in one gulp. It was taken away from him.

Shoes shuffled into his vision. Big black leather shoes. Fancy. But these had blood and slime all over them. Perhaps from him. He didn’t think the owner was very clever to wear them here. They looked too fancy for this place.

“Anything else I can get you?” the familiar voice asked.

“Ginny - where’s Ginny?”

“Ginny?” 

“Where is she?”

“Ginny _Weasley_?!” the voice sounded incredulous.

“She’s okay?”

“Ginny Weasley is _dead_ , Potter. She’s been dead for over two years.”

“Where is she?” Harry asked again. He needed to know Ginny was safe.

“You’ve gone too far, you idiot! He’s completely out of it.”

“I just did what you told me to do!”

“Oh for - I can’t take care of all of it. Merlin! I’m the bloody Minister! I can’t be with him the whole day! I told you, if it looks like he’s losing it, go easy on him! When did you last give him a break?”

Strong arms dragged Harry to a heap of straw. It was soft and he didn’t mind that some of it was damp and squashed and that it stung over what felt like a vicious cut on his back. Another glass was shoved in his hand - not water this time, but a thick golden potion. “Drink this,” he was told, and he drank without a moment’s hesitation. When he finished, the glass was taken away. Worried grey eyes peered at him. “You just stay here.”

“Is Ginny safe?” he insisted.

“Ginny’s fine,” the familiar voice reassured him. “She’s fine. Where she is, no one can touch her anymore.”

Harry nodded and closed his eyes.

He woke up on a wooden bench. The room wasn’t completely dark this time. There was a soft light, hovering in the room. Edinburgh. Leeds. London. It all swam in his head, but he felt clearer than he had in... he had no idea how long had passed. He could feel the cut on his back. He could see the scars on his palm. When he sent his hand to his ear, he could still feel the thick layer of congealed blood there. He started coughing, forcing the cough through the lump in his throat, through the weight in his lungs. The air felt too heavy to breathe. His sight blurred for a moment, but he shook his head, closed his eyes, breathed deeply, forced his head to clear, his eyes to see again. 

There was a stain on the stone floor in front of him. It still had a reddish tinge to it. How long before old blood turned completely darker? Harry tried to remember, but couldn’t. 

A quick look around the room confirmed that it looked just the same as the last time he had seen it. For a change, though, he didn’t feel thirsty. He still felt exhausted, but less so than before. Was it possible this was the first time he was allowed to rest? But then - how long did that mean he was there? 

The door opened. He could make out Malfoy, clad in heavy black robes. His wand out and ready. There was nowhere to run.

“ _Crucio_ ,” Malfoy said, almost softly. Harry fell from the bench to the floor, the pain taking over everything. His scream became a cough became a gurgle, he wanted it to stop, he just wanted it to stop, why did Malfoy keep going, why couldn’t he just end it, why couldn’t he just kill him? 

Then the pain was gone and Harry was left shaking on the floor. He could feel the wound on his head opening up again, new blood flowing over the old blood. He could taste blood on his tongue. He opened his mouth and spat out only blood. He opened his eyes and saw Malfoy standing there, still at the door, unmoving. Harry climbed to the bench, still shaking, and tried to back away as far as he could from the door. 

Malfoy left the doorway and entered the room.

He sat down on the bench next to Harry. His wand was aimed directly at Harry, but he didn’t curse him again. Not yet. Despite himself, the memory of the curse, the fear of the pain engulfed Harry for a moment. He had to force himself to raise his eyes to his captor. They just looked at each other, green eyes meeting grey, for what felt like forever. There was no pity in the grey eyes, no compassion. No kindness. No shred of humanity left, and they terrified Harry more than anything else in that small, dank room.

“How did this happen?” he whispered at last. He thought of the Draco Malfoy he knew, a Draco Malfoy who was a bit of a prat, a bit of a creep, and a major pain every time Harry had to deal with him, but who, in the end, could never bring himself to kill, could never bring himself to destroy. “You were never a killer, Malfoy. You could never kill, not when he told you to kill Dumbledore, not when he...” his train of thoughts was cut short by a cough that threatened to tear his lungs out. Malfoy just looked at him coughing, and made no move to help him. He waited for the coughing to stop, patiently, methodically.

“No, I wasn’t a killer back then,” Malfoy said softly, and drew himself closer to Harry. Harry tried to back further into the wall, but the cold stone was cutting into his back.

“Do you know how they do it, Potter? First you just hear them. Listen to them scream. They brought their victims to Malfoy Manor. I was sixteen back then. And they would scream, scream all night. I closed the door, I put the pillow over my head, did everything I could to make the noise go away. But it never did. They screamed so loud that it could never go away.

“Then they made me watch. Voldemort himself ordered to bring me to the room. Oh, I was terrified,” Malfoy laughed now. “You see them writhing and thrashing on the floor, screaming, their eyes roll back into the back of their head and they start drooling all over themselves, they bite their tongue, they bang their head on the floor and injure themselves, and the blood, there’s blood everywhere. And they beg. Do you remember begging, Potter? ‘Please, end this, just end this, please, I can’t take it anymore, I want this to end, please, make it stop, please, please, kill me, just kill me, make it stop. _Please_ ’.”

Malfoy considered his wand for a moment. “And then you have to do it, after a while. The thing about Unforgivable Curses - do you know them? How well do you know them?” Malfoy studied him. _Now_ there was pity in his eyes. “Not well enough. Not nearly well enough. You have to mean it, Potter. You have to really, truly, _mean it_. You have to believe. If you don’t believe, you see, they’re not going to scream loud enough. 

“And that’s when you realise. It’s _their_ fault. They brought it upon themselves. They were the ones who screwed up. They messed it up. They messed it all up. You’re doing it because you have no choice, because they were too stupid to see the truth and too lazy to escape properly.

“They deserve it. And when you realise that, that’s when you really hate them, Potter. And you hate them because now you know, they’re the ones who make you do it. They’re forcing your hand. And then...” he smiled. “And then they scream.”

“You’re insane.”

“No, Potter,” Malfoy’s face was now inches from his. “I’m a survivor. Two most different things in the world.”

“And how do you rationalise this to yourself then? What do you tell yourself about me?” Harry’s voice came out in short, low rasps. “Am I forcing your hand? Do you tell yourself this is my fault, too?”

“Oh, Harry,” Malfoy said gently. “It’s _all_ your fault. You were our greatest hope. You were the only one who could vanquish the Dark Lord. You were the only one who could end it. And you failed. You failed all of us. You killed that innocent sixteen-year-old boy, Harry, who thought he could block the screams away by putting a pillow over his head. You allowed the death of my family. You let him win.” 

He sent a hand to Harry’s face. Harry recoiled from his touch, but there was nowhere to go. Malfoy didn’t hit him. He just touched the side of his face, where Harry’s head was throbbing, where he could feel the warm liquid coming out of the wounds. And when Malfoy drew his hand back, Harry could see blood on the fingers. _Harry’s_ blood. Malfoy looked at his fingers for a moment, as if surprised to see the red liquid on them. 

He drew himself closer to Harry, and Harry could feel his warm breath on his face. “You deserve to be punished, Harry. You’ve brought this upon yourself, when you’ve brought this upon all of us. You were supposed to win, to save us all. But you didn’t.” He leaned forward, towards Harry’s face, and kissed him gently, a fluttering of his lips on Harry’s forehead, next to the old lightning-bolt scar.

Then Malfoy got on his feet and walked to the door, and Harry’s heart was filled with dread, numbing him, paralysing him, taking over everything else. “What are you doing to do?” He needed all of his willpower to let the words out.

Malfoy paused at the doorway. “I’m going to end this now,” he said.


	10. Hope Springs Eternal

**30th December, 2010, 6:20 p.m.**

Hermione fell on the chair with a sigh. “The orchard’s gone,” she said. “They burnt it all down. Got through all our protective spells, everything. Nothing left.” No one said a word. “So much for great big well-trained Auror man.”

“Still within the plan,” Ron offered weakly.

“No, it isn’t. It’s been twenty-four hours. They’ve been in the orchard at least ten hours ago. I’d say twelve. That was the last resort. If he had to give them the orchard twelve hours ago and we still haven’t heard anything...” she shot a glance at the stone on the table. It was completely red.

They had used the Gemini curse on the Azkaban stone, and bound them together. It was the same process that the Ministry used, and Hermione had no problem at all figuring out the spells. When Harry had activated the Azkaban stone with his wand, the copied stone on the desk turned blue. Once the stone could no longer allow them to Apparate, the stone on the table turned red again.

They took turns, watching the stone. It had not turned blue once. 

“I don’t think he made it,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

The man in front of her, the one who wasn’t Ron, picked up the stone and stared at it. “We can’t give up,” he said, more to the stone than to her. 

“There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Harry went there so that - ”

“Oh, don’t give me that! He went there for one reason only, Ron. So that the two of you could leave and go back to your - to your - ” To your paradise, she almost said. “It wasn’t because of us.”

“But if he succeeded, you would have got so much from it,” he said.

“But he didn’t succeed.” Neville had joined the conversation. In his calm, measured way, he sat down next to Ron. “Look, Ron, there’s nothing I would like to do more in the world than march in there and get rid of Malfoy and get Harry back. It’s not going to happen. If we go there like that, without him activating the stone first - that’s suicide. That’s not some million-to-one chance mission that’s going to succeed against all odds, some romantic fairytale where the good guys win. That’s not going to happen. There’s no chance of success if we walk in there like that. It would be suicide. Clear and simple. Might as well get your wand out and ask one of us to cast the Killing Curse on you, it’d be faster and much less painful.”

“So now what? You’re giving up?” Ron’s voice was full of disgust.

“We’re not giving up,” Neville said, his voice now gentle. “We never give up. We’ll lie low, another five, six months, let Malfoy think we’ve given up... then we start all over again.”

“You mean you’ll fail again.”

“Perhaps,” Neville was much too reasonable and patient to Hermione’s mind, but she didn’t interfere. “Perhaps finally we’ll find the way to beat him. The one thing we can’t do is give up.”

“You are giving up, though. You’re giving up on Harry.”

“He knew the risks,” Hermione said flatly. “And he’s already dead.”

Ron looked at the stone again. “Imagine... you remember the battle?”

Hermione and Neville exchanged looks. Then she nodded, and Ron continued. “There’s fighting everywhere, and people are dying, and Fred’s already dead, and Remus and Tonks and Colin Creevey...”

“I remember,” Hermione said, her voice choking. Why was he talking about this? Why did he feel the need to remind them of that cursed day now? Just to make them feel as bad as he was feeling?

“Imagine _him_ showing up all of a sudden, all the Death Eaters behind him.” She didn’t need to imagine. She remembered that day, a dozen years ago, as if it were yesterday. The anger on Voldemort’s face, how terrifying he looked! And the jeering Death Eaters behind him. 

“He’s terrifying,” she said.

Ron nodded. “You see him, those red eyes, that snake face, and he’s walking there, he’s not even afraid of any curse, he’s not afraid someone will get him, he knows he won.” Ron considered his words for a moment, then continued. “And Hagrid’s with them, they’ve got Hagrid, they got him tied up, and in his arms he’s carrying a body.” 

Hermione shuddered now. That, she did not remember. That did not happen in her world.

“And he says, ‘Harry Potter is dead!’.” Now Ron took the stone, threw it once in the air, then caught it. “And then we all... we all started fighting again. He tried to stop us from fighting, and then Neville killed the snake and he couldn’t touch him and we fought, we knew we were going to die, we knew it was over, but we still fought.”

“We fought, too,” she whispered. “We really did.”

Ron paused, then put down the stone on the table and looked at her. “And then you hear it, this familiar voice casting a Shield charm to stop Bellatrix from killing my mother. And it’s Harry. And he’s alive. Despite everything. And the next thing you know, Voldemort’s dead.” There was wonder in his voice, amazement in his eyes, as he said those words. She closed her eyes and willed herself to imagine, imagine it was her Ron, so full of hope and happiness and so _whole_ and that what he told her had really happened.

She couldn’t do it.

She opened her eyes again and shook her head. “That’s your fairytale,” she said. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen in this world. In this world there are no last minute miracles, Ron. I’m sorry.” She got up. “He’s dead,” she said again and left the room.

Neville moved to sit next to Ron. He hesitated for a moment, then put his hand on Ron’s shoulder. Someone else sat next to him - Harry. the other Harry. 

“You called it,” Ron said bitterly. “You told him not to do it. You were the only one.”

“I wish I was wrong,” Harry said.

“You think he’s dead, too,” Ron said, as if it was Harry’s fault. Harry didn’t seem to mind, though. He looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.

“I hope he’s dead,” he said.

“Hope he’s dead? _Hope_?”

“We have no way to get in there,” Harry said. “Hermione wasn’t wrong, not about that. And he... he said it too before he left. Don’t you remember? That was the only way any of us had of getting into the Ministry. We can’t go after him.”

“And you think he’s better be dead than alive in there,” Ron said bitterly.

“You don’t know what it’s like in there,” Harry whispered. Ron averted his gaze, sought Neville instead. He couldn’t quite look at this Harry, not now. “I should have stopped him from going.”

“Fat chance,” Ron said. “Once Harry convinces himself to do something, nothing you could say will change his mind. Stubborn git.”

“Sounds familiar,” Neville said and smiled weakly.

But Ron wasn’t amused by the joke. “I can’t stay here,” he said, his voice full of despair. “I can’t stay here. And without Harry...”

“I know,” said Neville quietly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Harry didn’t say a thing.

Upstairs, Hermione found her own Ron. The door to their room was open, and he was sitting on one of the beds, staring at the door - listening in on the conversation below, she thought. 

“Hey,” she said quietly and went to sit by him. 

It was the same room they used to have in this old house - years ago, before they were forced to abandon it. The signs of the Death Eaters and time showed all over the place. The blue paint on the wall was peeling. She had spent hours painting this room just the way she wanted it to be, just that shade of blue. Ron didn’t understand then why she insisted on painting it the hard way, instead of using magic, but he joined her efforts anyway. The small bedside table was gone. Broken, she thought, when the room was searched. Their photographs, too, were gone. They had found them on the floor when they returned to the house, their frames shattered and the photographs themselves torn and dirty. She offered to fix them by magic, but Ron just threw them away. 

It was a part of the old life, he said. She didn’t see much of a difference, but he did. Perhaps there was a difference. They had left that house a day after Voldemort had died. After they had killed Voldemort, they came back to this place as victors. They were sure everything was going to be alright. When they had left, not twelve hours later, they were already running for their lives again. 

Maybe he had a point, after all.

“You don’t want to go downstairs?” she asked now.

“He’s too - weird. Well, no, he isn’t. But it’s weird. Seeing him.” 

“Is it that much worse than seeing Dumbledore again? And Sirius, and Remus...” 

“You have no idea. Yes. Yes, it is. It’s...” he shook his head, as if trying to shake off the feeling. “It’s just completely bizarre. He looks just like me. He _is_ me.”

“No, he isn’t,” she said quietly. She thought of the other Ron’s words. “Not in the way that really matters.”

“I’m sorry. About yesterday. I was being a prat.”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. 

“It’s just... I can’t help thinking - we came back here for _this_?”

“I know,” she said.

“In that other world, right now, my mum’s making dinner for everyone. And George probably got out of bed, Ginny said he was getting better. And maybe Dumbledore didn’t tell her we were gone. She’s probably looking right now at the door, or at the fireplace, waiting for me to show up.” He put his arm around her shoulder. “They must have celebrated when Voldemort died,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said.

“What do you think they did?”

“Ron - don’t.”

“Probably had a day off for everyone. Celebrating. Everything closed, maybe except for the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks - or you think the Hog’s Head? I bet people didn’t even mind going into Ab Dumbledore’s pub for this.” His arm was pressing into her shoulder, squashing it. He didn’t realise he was doing it, she could see it in his eyes. He was miles away.

“Ron - ”

“And mum told me once that the first time Voldemort was gone, when he came to Harry’s house, Dedalus Diggle had cast a spell of shooting star. It should be pretty complicated, but I bet he did it again. Shooting stars, all over England.”

“Ron.”

“That must be nice to see.”

“Don’t.”

He blinked, then looked at her. He must have sensed the pressure now from his hand, as he withdrew it from her shoulder and instead held her hand. “I wish we could see it,” he said. “They must be so happy.”

“Yeah.”

“What about him?” he didn’t have to explain who he was talking about. Hermione shook her head.

“No sign,” she said. “And he told them about the orchard.”

“Well, that’s why we left the orchard,” he said, and sounded so much like the Ron she had left below that she wanted to scream.

She didn’t scream, of course. She said her words levelly and calmly. “He’s dead, Ron.”

“You said that to the other Ron. Downstairs. I heard you.” He took a lock of hair and moved it behind her ear. “Why is it so important to you that he gives up?”

“He shouldn’t have hope that he’s alive,” she answered. “He’ll just die faster. It’s awkward to have the both of you here, it’s awkward for me as well, but I don’t want him... he shouldn’t _die_ because of it.”

His hand stopped playing with her hair. Instead, he fully turned to her and studied her in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “What’s happened to you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re different,” he said. “Something about you... you’re not the same.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she snapped at him. “Of course I’m the same. I haven’t come from any... _alternate universe_ \- or whatever it is you want to call it. I’m the same Hermione as always.”

“No,” he shook his head. His fingers traced her face, from her ear to her lip, then to her chin. “Something’s different.”

“Ron, we don’t have time for that,” she said shortly. “This place isn’t safe. Malfoy’s not thinking about it now, but he’s going to think about it sooner or later, and by then we should be gone. We need to come up with some plan, somewhere to go, I was thinking maybe Manchester, there’s this - ”

“What happened, Hermione?” he asked again. He wasn’t listening to her at all. “What’s happened to you?”

She considered his words. If he insisted something had happened to her - well, Ron of all people would know. He was the one who relied most on her, he was the one who needed her the most, the others saw Neville as their undeclared leader, but for Ron, it was always her, and she - Oh. Now she understood.

“I finally realised you were right,” she said. Ron’s hand, that had been caressing her cheek, stopped moving. “About everything.”

“Hermione...”

“We should have stayed there. What did we come back here for? Parvati’s dead, we just sent someone else to his death, and for what?”

“Hermione, don’t.”

“I’m never going to see my parents again. Even if we do get Malfoy, someone else will take his place. I bet his own Death Eaters are planning his assassination right now. What good is it going to be to us? They probably already found my parents. Or there’s no way to reverse the memory charm. And it’s been twelve years, hasn’t it? They wouldn’t know me anymore, anyway.”

“Don’t. Please, don’t.”

“And this place,” she laughed now, and her laughter sounded so much like Ron’s, too much like Ron’s. “What are we doing here? What for? The last time anyone cared enough to do something about the Death Eaters, to fight, that was twelve years ago. They won’t fight again. We can’t do it alone and we’re not going to get any help.”

“You don’t know that,” he whispered.

“No, you were right. Didn’t you tell me that a thousand times? We’re fighting for nothing. We’re fighting because we have no idea what else to do. Because we don’t want to admit we’ve lost. We have lost, though. Things are never going to be the same again. Just more dead bodies.” Her voice was now loud and clear. She got on her feet at some point, she wasn’t sure when, she just knew Ron’s hand was frozen halfway into thin air and he was shaking his head slowly, a terrified expression on his face.

“Who’s going to die first, Ron? Or rather, I should ask, who’s going to die _next_? We’ve already had two deaths - we’ve already had way more than two deaths, Hannah died and Seamus died and now Parvati’s dead. And Harry. Who’s next? You? Me? Neville? Our Harry? Well, he probably won’t mind that much, his entire life’s been one big nightmare -”

“Hermione!”

It was Ron, but it wasn’t Ron. Ron was still staring at her, his eyes open wide, his mouth opened in shock. It was the other one. And if the Ron in front of her looked shocked, the other one looked nothing short of stunned. 

He was standing at the doorway, and he wasn’t alone - together with him were Neville, Anthony, Luna and Harry. Padma and Dean were nowhere in sight, but Hermione knew they couldn’t be too far off, and they too had probably heard every word. 

“Your friend died for nothing,” she said to the other Ron now. “There was never any hope. We need to make sure not to follow him.”

“No,” he straightened up in front of her.

Like his friend, this Ron seemed taller than the Ron she knew, the Ron who was sitting on the bed. He looked life right in the face. Like they did, once, long ago. He’ll learn. 

His face, though, his face was set in stone and full of cold fury - fury at her, she knew. Her Ron had reasons to be angry with her. She was the reason he came back here, to this hell. This Ron? Nothing that upset him was her fault. Even his friend went to his death by his own accord.

She stared back at him unflinching. “Fine,” she said. “Go to the Ministry. Try to save someone who’s already dead and get yourself killed in the process. Do as you like.”

She turned to leave, but fingers as unyielding as steel grabbed her wrist. He shouldn’t have so much strength, she thought. He was still weak, weak from the spell that had almost killed him. “Let go of me,” she said and drew her wand. “Or I’ll curse you.”

“Hermione.” Ron again, but this time it was her Ron.

“Stay out of it,” she said. 

The other Ron let go of her hand. She went to sit back on the bed, next to her Ron - but now Ron stood up and went up to the other Ron. 

They stood there, looking at each other. Unlike Harry and his counterpart, it was much harder to tell these two apart. Especially now, as the other Ron was flushed and angry. There was the same fire in their eyes as they stared at each other. She could have let herself forget, she could have made herself mistake one for the other. Red hair and freckles, tall and wiry, even if she could see one of them was more heavyset, one of them had Molly’s wonderful food every time he wanted it, while the other had lived on scraps and rumours and false hope for so long it became a second nature.

She wasn’t sure what unspoken understanding passed between the two Rons, but when the other Ron spoke, he didn’t speak to her Ron, but to her, even though he was looking at Ron that entire time. “I don’t presume to understand what you’ve been through all this time. I don’t know what I would have done in your place. And if you’ve lost hope, then so be it. But I’m not going to. I’m not going to hide in Manchester when what we need is right here in London. I’m not going to run away when my best friend counts on me to go after him. I’m just not going to do it.”

“You can barely stand as it is,” she said irritably.

“Then brew me up a pepper-up potion, should keep me standing for up to twenty-four hours.”

“It’s twenty-two hours, you were never very good at potions.”

“Yeah, I didn’t have to, I had you to copy from.” 

She snorted despite herself. He finally tore his eyes away from Ron - from _her_ Ron - and walked to her. He sat on the bed next to her and hugged her tight, despite her hostility. In his arms, with her eyes closed, she could just about believe it was her Ron. “Don’t do this to me,” she murmured in his ear, so that her Ron won’t hear. “Please don’t do this to me. Don’t give me someone to lean on.”

“Is it really such a terrible thing?” he whispered back to her.

“Yes.”

He would have held her there for as long as she wanted, she knew. She could stay in his arms forever. Except she couldn’t. She detached herself from his embraced. He looked surprised for a moment, almost lost. He didn’t expect her to turn him down.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m not doing this again. I’m not getting my hopes up again. Not ever again. There is nothing that can happen right now that would make me believe. Ever again.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

They all jumped. Ron - the other Ron, who was still weak from the curse - jump up to stand, then swayed and had to grab the wall for support. Her own Ron’s mouth opened in shock. Neville looked wildly around. And that voice, she knew that voice, but she never thought she’d hear it again.

Behind Sirius Black, Albus Dumbledore walked into the room. “As Molly is so fond of saying, don’t count your dragons before they hatched, Ms Granger.” The blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses twinkled. 

**30th December, 2010, 7 p.m.**

They all made it there. All the people Hermione had refused to say goodbye to. Sirius and Dumbledore, but also Remus and Lily, James and Snape, and Ginny, Ginny Weasley, she came there too. 

“George wanted to come,” she said, “but of course he couldn’t. And Fred wanted to come but he didn’t want to leave George behind.”

“But - how?” was all Hermione could get out of her mouth.

“It took about two hours for Sirius to realise you were gone,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “I’m afraid he was rather displeased with me.”

“I think I might have shouted at him for half an hour,” Sirius said, and didn’t look guilty at all. Hermione laughed.

“I believe it was closer to forty minutes,” Dumbledore answered. “And after Sirius had finished shouting himself hoarse, he started talking. To make a long story short, he rather impressed on me how vital it was that we should... return the favour, shall we say. Pay the debt we owe you. We would have come sooner, but I’m afraid it’s taken us that long to get the Muggle device to work again. But I see you had some... interesting events to deal with,” he shot a glance at Ron - the other Ron, the one who was leaning on the wall, slightly far from everyone else. 

They all rejoiced at the arrival of these friends from the past, but Ron’s smile had been short-lived. He stared at them in shock - Sirius, and Remus, and when he saw Snape and Lily and James, he almost had to pick up his jaw from the floor. Dumbledore he treated with a mixture of reverence and suspicion. But she knew him, even if he wasn’t the same Ron she had known all that time. He was wary and ill and shocked, but Hermione knew he was happy. She could see it from the way he looked at them hungrily, the way he followed their every move, the way he opened his mouth and closed it and wasn’t sure what to say but wanted to say something nonetheless. 

“And now, we had better find a way into that Ministry of yours, or we’re stuck here too,” Remus said.

“I wish you’d have come twenty four hours earlier,” Ron said quietly. 

“Oh, yeah, care to explain how come you ended up having _two_ Rons?” James scratched his ear. “Not to sound odd or anything, but it’s greedy of you to have two while we don’t have any at all.”

Ron - her Ron - started laughing. The other Ron gaped at James. “Is he always like that?” he asked.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Remus said lightly. 

“They’re here from an alternate universe,” Hermione explained. “Another alternate universe. I think... from what they said... their end started this. Something happened on their world, and then it affected this one, as well.”

Dumbledore nodded. “That would make sense, Ms Granger. Although I wonder - _they_?”

“Harry.”

Dumbledore looked at him sharply, then at Harry. “Where is he?” he asked urgently.

“We tried... it was so useless!” Ron now started pacing up and down the room. “It was so stupid. We should never have let him go. _I_ should never have let him go.”

“Where is he, Ron?”

“In the Ministry. If he’s - it’s been a whole day. If he’s still alive.”

Sirius shot a glance, not at Ron, but at Harry. Hermione was reminded of Harry, in front of that other Harry, and his words. ‘Look at me,’ he told him - _warned_ him, more like it. She knew the same thing was going through Sirius’s mind. 

Dumbledore got on his feet. “In that case, I believe we have no time to waste,” he said.

“How are we going to break into the Ministry, though?” Ron asked. “We don’t have any way in, not without the stone.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Mr Weasley,” he said lightly, “when you have me, you don’t need anything else.”

“He’s got a point, you know,” Sirius said. Hermione just laughed in amazement. Her laughter was light and free.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Remus said, and they all grabbed their coats. 

Hermione stopped for a moment in front of Padma. “Are you up for this?” she asked.

“More than I’ve been in a long time.” There was a defiant expression on Padma’s face. Not towards Hermione - towards the world. 

Hermione smiled softly. “We’re going to win,” she said. 

“We’ve got Dumbledore now,” Padma agreed.

“We’re going to win,” Hermione repeated.

“For Parvati...”

“Yeah.”

They left the old house with their wands raised, but the explosions that greeted them in the street, in Diagon Alley, were not of their doing. Hermione looked for the source of the noise - and she saw them. Wizards and witches, marching up and down the streets, blasting signs with their wands. 

_Death Eaters_ was her first thought - but it wasn’t, she knew, it couldn’t be. Death Eaters wouldn’t march down Diagon Alley to terrorise the people. They had other methods of achieving that. She looked at the wizards and witches with growing confusion, until she recognised the one who marched at the front. She had known the woman through all her time at Hogwarts.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Ron breathed next to her. And behind Madam Pomfrey, so many people. “The cavalry’s here.” 

The wizards and witches of Britain were revolting against the Ministry at last.


	11. Perpetual Change

**31st December, 2010, 11:23 a.m.**

“Harry,” Harry heard a voice. A soft, tender voice. A familiar voice. A voice he knew, a voice he trusted. “Harry,” the voice said again, calling his name. He opened his eyes, and saw Ginny’s bright eyes peering at him from above. It was the best thing he had seen in his life. 

“Ginny,” he wanted to shout in joy, but his voice came out only in a whisper. 

“Are you alright?” she asked, looking at him with a worried expression. As a response, he put his hand on her shoulder and used it as leverage to get up and kiss her. He only managed a small peck before he fell again, but he hoped it communicated everything he wanted to say. He didn’t think he could find the words. 

“Er,” was Ginny’s response - not quite the reaction he was expecting. 

Someone - not Ginny - pushed a goblet into his hand. “Drink this,” said a voice, such a familiar voice. “It is best your head be clear before we explain everything.”

He knew that voice, he knew that, but he couldn’t figure out who it was. Harry drank the potion, and could feel the strength returning to his body, the clarity to his mind. He then looked up at slightly worried, slightly amused blue eyes, behind half-moon spectacles.

He closed his eyes. He opened them again. It didn’t change the sight above him. Albus Dumbledore was still crouching there and looking at him. “Am I dead?” he asked the question that might have sounded foolish in a different situation - or, perhaps, by a different man - but Harry felt he was completely justified this time. 

“Not yet, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore said, the tip of his lips twitching in amusement.

And then it all came back to Harry - parallel universes, alternate realities, dead people and living people and everything in between, and this Dumbledore must have got there from a different - alternate - _whatever_. “This realities thing is giving me a headache,” he muttered.

Ginny laughed. Even Dumbledore’s lips opened in a true smile. “Come on,” he told Harry and offered his hand - his right hand, the one that had suffered the curse, but this one was whole and strong. Harry grabbed it and Dumbledore, with surprising strength for a man who must have been at least a hundred and twenty years old, pulled him up.

“Argh,” Harry said as his head started spinning again. Dumbledore gave him another potion, which Harry drank gratefully. The spinning stopped, and some of the pain, if not disappeared, then became duller. 

He could still feel it - the vicious cut on his back, the blood, and as he took a tentative step or two, his legs shook. He was probably stinking, and what he really wanted right now was a long hot shower and a good sleep - and possibly a few meals in between - but that could wait. What he _needed_ was - “My wand,” he said. 

Dumbledore looked at him curiously. 

“Malfoy took it. When we first got here, not when... not... when was it? When did I walk in here?”

“You don’t know?” Dumbledore asked, and Harry could hear the concern in his voice.

“It’s, uh,” he shook his head and rubbed his eyes and tried to sound more coherent, so that the old wizard would be less worried. “Malfoy had some fun screwing around with... well, everything really, I guess. How many days it’s been?”

“Two days.”

“Two days.” Harry couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. All that time, and it had only been two days... he leaned on the wall and took a look around at the cell. At the wooden bench, at the heap of straw at the corner, the wet floor... all the times he had woken up in here, he thought, and it had only been two days.

“The war is over now,” Dumbledore said, obviously trying to cheer Harry up. “I’m afraid you’ve missed it.”

Harry gave a hollow laughter, that didn’t quite reflect his relief. “I can’t say I’m upset about that.”

“I thought you wouldn’t be. Mr Malfoy,” he said the name in disdain, “has been captured, not long ago, and - ”

But Harry didn’t listen to the rest of the sentence. “They got Malfoy?” he asked, and thought of Gregory Goyle. “We need to get there _now_.”

Ignoring both Dumbledore’s and Ginny’s protests, he started running, all the time shouting back, “Where are they?”

He could hear Ginny running, calling behind him, “The Minister’s office - wait - where are you going!” but he ignored her. There was no time. 

He knew how he must have looked as he climbed up from the filthiest cell to the fanciest, most important part of the Ministry. And on the way, he passed through groups and groups of people. Some of them stared at him, some of them pointed, some of them looked in confusion; he didn’t have the time to worry about them, didn’t even have the time to register them, except to shout “Out of my way!” whenever a particularly large group was standing there blocking the hallways, the stairways, the way to the Minister’s office. 

He burst through to the Minister’s Senior Undersecretary’s office. The Senior Undersecretary wasn’t in - just more wizards and witches, some look familiar, most of them he didn’t bother noticing. Someone got up, tried to stop him. He ignored them and rushed forward, through the big oak doors, into the room where they held Malfoy. “Stop!” he shouted before he had to stop himself and catch his breath. The effects of the potions were wearing off, probably spent with the adrenaline that rushed through his body. The room started spinning. “Stop,” he said again, more softly, and held on to the door to keep the room around him steady, or at least, to keep himself steady inside the room.

Someone jumped on him. For a moment, he cursed himself - he didn’t have a wand, he couldn’t defend himself - even though he could barely see and his wand would do little good against an attack. And then he realised he was being hugged. 

“Merlin,” Ron said in a shaky voice, “you’re alive, Harry, we thought, I didn’t...” now that he managed to detach himself from Ron, he could see the concern and relief in those blue eyes. 

“I’m okay,” he said quietly. But in Ron’s eyes, whatever little relief was already disappearing, replaced by more and more concern. Harry knew what he must look like. “I’ll be okay, at least,” he amended. “Dumbledore said Malfoy’s here.”

Now that he had caught his breath and the room was no longer spinning, he could take a look around. Wherever the centre of attention had been before, it was now him, he realised - everyone was looking at him, relief in their eyes. But he couldn’t see Malfoy anywhere.

“Dumbledore said you’ve got Malfoy here,” he said again, slightly louder this time. There was nothing but silence. “Where is he?” Harry asked sharply. 

“It’s not what you think,” Hermione said. There was ice in her voice, mingled with the relief. For some reason, Harry couldn’t believe her.

“Where is he?” he asked again. He could feel the urgency sipping through his voice.

“It’s not what you think, Harry,” Ron said this time. Harry looked at him, and only then allowed himself to calm down.

“Can, uh, someone fill us in?” he heard a familiar voice, and his heart skipped a beat.

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again, and only then turned to his right, where he could see now the man he had not seen for fifteen years... “Sirius.”

Sirius had a wide, huge grin plastered all over his face. He looked happy - so much happier than Harry ever remembered seeing him. There wasn’t a time that Harry could remember Sirius’s rare spells of happiness without also remembering them coloured by bitterness and pain. But here was this smile, so carefree and overjoyed. And when he said, “This is going to be one of those awkward-different-histories thing again, isn’t it?” Harry could hear that he was joking - mostly. 

“Probably,” someone else said - Remus. And then Dumbledore and Ginny - a different Ginny - appeared through the large doors. Behind them, Harry could see the people he had ignored when he rushed in, and he recognised them with a pang and a shock: his mother, his father, Severus Snape.

He heard the stories from Hermione, but it didn’t sound real, didn’t feel real, not until now, when he saw all of them, alive again - no, _still_ alive. Harry’s head started spinning again.

Focus on what you know, he told himself. Focus on what you can understand. If he could even call this Malfoy and these people something he could understand.

“What are you going to do with Malfoy?” he asked.

“Well, that was the subject of the discussion before you jumped in,” Sirius said wryly, and then, more sombrely, “I think we’ve reached a compromise everyone can live with, though.”

“We’re going to put them on trial, Harry,” Hermione said now. “All of them. I think you could live with that?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I think you could live with that, too. How are you going to - I mean, I’m guessing these guys aren’t going to stay here forever?”

“We’ll manage,” Ron said, and it took Harry a moment to shake the confusion and realise it was the other Ron, the Ron that was staying here in this world.

“Right,” he said. Uncertainty and exhaustion filled him again. He looked again at Sirius, and opened his mouth to say something, even if this Sirius wasn’t really his godfather, when all of a sudden he noticed the man who was sitting on a chair next to Sirius, bound. The man Sirius was clearly guarding, although whether he was guarding him so that he would not escape or guarding him from the rest of the group, Harry wasn’t sure. 

“Does anyone know where my wand is, please?” he asked quietly. 

“They’re here, we found them, Malfoy kept them and - ” Ron started, then paused, looking alarmed. He had only now noticed that Harry had seen Malfoy. “Er...” Ron said now. “Harry?”

But no one answered Ron. Someone put a stick of wood in Harry’s hand - a wand. And immediately, he felt the familiar warmth. He didn’t need to look at the wand to know which one it was. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather, his own wand was finally returned to him.

He looked instead at the man who had put the wand in his hand. Dean Thomas. And he could see the look deep inside Dean’s eyes, could hear the unspoken words. If he didn’t want to wait for a trial, it was fine with Dean. No, he shook his head. This was not going to be a repeat of the Hog’s Head.

Dean just shrugged. Whatever, he could read the word in his expression. Or, perhaps, ‘fool’. 

Harry clutched his wand, then went to the bound man on the chair. Sirius tensed next to him. Harry looked at him for a moment, trying to communicate that he wasn’t going to punish Malfoy, trying to communicate that Sirius had nothing to worry about. Sirius didn’t relax, and clutched his own wand, and Harry wondered whether he didn’t understand, or whether he simply didn’t trust Harry.

On the chair, Malfoy looked terrified. Still he mustered some defiance as he looked at Harry. “Which one are you, then?” he asked, and his gaze travelled beyond Harry - to the place the other Harry was standing, no doubt.

“I’m the one who defeated Voldemort,” Harry said quietly. Someone coughed behind him, and he added in an afterthought, “The first time round.”

 _You were the only one who could end it, and you failed us all_. The words came all of a sudden to Harry’s mind. He wasn’t sure whether they were a dream, a hallucination, or whether that conversation had really ever happened. They looked at each other, Harry and Malfoy, without moving, and Harry had the impression that the same words were also on Malfoy’s mind.

“There’s another one. Like me. Isn’t there?” Malfoy asked all of a sudden. “You said so.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

Harry got up. “Slowly learning how to be a decent human being,” he said and turned his back on Malfoy. 

**31st December, 2010, 4:49 p.m.**

Hermione wasn’t quite sure how the ended up at Hogwarts. The Ministry had fallen, Diagon Alley was freed, Draco Malfoy was to be put on trial, and the rest of them were either arrested or fleeing.

It seemed like the end, until someone had mentioned Hogwarts, where the Death Eaters still reigned supreme. Perhaps it was Harry who had mentioned the school - the other Harry, or their Harry, or maybe it was someone else entirely. But it was time for the old school to start teaching the right kind of knowledge again. 

That was how they ended up there, she knew. They came to capture all the Death Eaters who were still lurking about in the old corridors, teaching their students about blood purity and that Muggles were inferiors.

It was Dumbledore who said so, full of sadness, as the school’s towers came into view. “The damage on the Ministry and in Diagon Alley you could fix soon enough,” he said quietly. “But the damage that was inflicted within these walls, I’m afraid you will have to spend much more time undoing that damage, Ms Granger.”

Neville stopped at the gates, passed his hand on the walls that surrounded the grounds, before he drew his wand and walked through the gates. “I always wanted to be a teacher,” he said quietly. “I always thought Herbology could be quite the subject to teach here.”

“Then perhaps you should,” Hermione said. “I think the castle will need you as much as you’ll need it.”

“Perhaps even more,” Dumbledore added.

There wasn’t a battle in the school, no real fight. The Death Eaters had already heard the fate of their friends in London, and that Hogsmeade was being taken at that very moment. And if they still harboured a wish to fight, it quickly evaporated as they laid eyes on Albus Dumbledore himself. They surrendered without a fight, and Dumbledore called someone from the Ministry to take them back to London. The last fight was over. The last obstacle.

Now they entered the Great Hall aimlessly. Hermione sat on a random table - she wasn’t even sure which House it belonged to, Slytherin, perhaps? - and stared ahead. They won, she thought, but perhaps she was too numb to feel the victory. Perhaps she still remembered with trepidation their short-lived victory of two years before.

Someone sat next to her. Ron. She took another look and realised it wasn’t her Ron - it was the other one. “Odd victory, this,” he gestured around.

“Yeah,” she said, and for a moment, wondered whether he could understand.

“I still remember the morning, after the battle. We were fighting all night long, and by the end, the entire castle was in ruins. This whole place - ” he gestured around. “We had to rebuild everything afterwards.”

“A bit like Diagon Alley,” she said. 

“Yeah.”

Diagon Alley had suffered the brunt of the battle. The last they had seen it, before they proceeded to the Ministry, it had looked as if no building was still standing in the wizarding high street - no building except for the Leaky Cauldron, which was the entrance and exit to and from the Muggle world and could not be touched. But everything else... if she closed her eyes, she could still see the battle, and hear it and smell it. The Death Eaters were standing on rooftops, in balconies, and marching down the street, and it wasn’t until they had destroyed each and every building that had provided them with shelter that the Death Eaters had given up and retreated. 

“And here there wasn’t any fight,” he said again.

“There was a fight,” Hermione corrected him. “Twelve years of fighting.”

“Yeah.”

They sat together in silence. 

“I hear they want you to be the new Minister,” Ron said quietly. 

There had been talk. She heard it too. All of the obvious candidates were dead. Everyone who was already in the Ministry were Death Eaters and could not be trusted. They would need to fill the Ministry with their own people, and at the moment, the people everyone were thinking of were them - her Ron, Neville, Luna, Dean, Padma, Anthony... and herself.

“They’re talking about the others as well,” she said quietly.

“Could it be any one of them?” he asked. She knew what he was asking. She didn’t even need to see him look at Harry - _his Harry_ , who had just entered the Great Hall, with wet hair and some clean clothes someone had found for him. 

Harry hadn’t witnessed the argument at the Minister’s office. Or, perhaps, it was a fight. Because, while they had all acknowledged the need for trials - and the more public, the better, she thought darkly - they still weren’t sure what to do with Malfoy. And there was a moment when the question had come up.

She had thought Harry dead then. They all had. They had all been so sure that Malfoy had killed him. But it was still the thought of Harry that had made her hesitate. She had remembered then her conversation with him, back in the orchard, the conversation about Goyle, and at that moment, the most ridiculous thought had come to her mind. Harry would not have approved. So she had joined Sirius, Remus and this Ron, joined their side in the argument, that it was better to put Malfoy on trial in front of the entire wizengamot, the entire wizarding world, than end it right there and then. And she knew it was her taking that stand back in the Minister’s office that had allowed Malfoy his life, until Harry had burst in and turned the entire discussion moot.

And that was what Ron was saying now. It was better to leave her in charge. She shook her head. “I don’t think I would have said those things if it weren’t for him,” she said quietly. 

Ron shrugged. “So Harry pushes people to do the right thing. What else is new?”

“He won’t be here to push me again.” 

“He wasn’t there to push you then.”

“It would be far easier to teach here. I could teach Transfiguration. In Professor McGonagall’s place. Or maybe Muggle studies.”

“You could,” Ron agreed. 

“I’ll enjoy doing that.”

“Yeah, I think you would.”

She laughed. “Didn’t I tell you not to give me someone to lean on, Ronald Weasley?”

“Yeah, you did,” he said with a grin, then added as an afterthought, “I thought you said your inspiration was Harry, though.” 

She had to remind herself he wasn’t _her_ Ron and that she had better not kiss him. 

At the other end of the room, Harry declared he was starving and whether they thought there was still some food left in the school. Dumbledore flicked his wand, and all of a sudden, on the central table, a feast appeared, the kind of food she had not seen in years, and in quantities that were enough for the whole school.

“I’m starving too,” Ron commented, and she agreed - she was also hungry. They joined the rest of the group.

It was the best meal she had in years. Perhaps forever. Not just the food, but the company, too. 

Next to her sat Albus Dumbledore, who kept on discussing French cuisine and wondered about revising the school menu. On her other side, the other Ron was deep in conversation with Luna Lovegood, and unless she was much mistaken, he was telling her the story of a trip they had taken to find Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. 

In front of her, Harry was sitting next to Sirius. Her Harry, with his greying hair and lines on his face, but now there was laughter in them, too, as they were talking about some adventure from Sirius’s past, and Harry - Harry! - was retelling the story of how they had battled the troll on Hallowe’en. The other Harry was sitting near, but talking to Remus. Remus’s expression was unreadable, as usual, but Ron had whispered to her, “He’s telling him about Teddy,” and she understood.

At the other end of the table, Anthony and Neville were talking with Severus Snape, of all people, and Hermione watched in surprise mixed with confusion how the three of them were laughing with each other and with Lily. “It would appear,” Dumbledore said with a wink, “that Mr Goldstein is considering a career of Potions Master.” Hermione stifled a snort. She could think of better people to ask for advice about teaching than Severus Snape - for example, everyone else in the room - but perhaps this Severus Snape was a different enough man to be considered in this group. And next to them, maintaining a truce that was just as unthinkable, James Potter was sitting, and next to him were Padma and Dean, slightly further away from everyone else, but they were talking. Hermione wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but whatever it was, she hoped it would help.

There they were, all of them, the unlikeliest of families, all at the same table. Almost all. 

It took her another moment to realise who was missing from the group, and then she turned around.

At the next table and away from everyone else, sat Ron and Ginny Weasley, and they were talking quietly but with huge smiles on their faces. And all of a sudden, Hermione’s joy had disappeared. 

Hogwarts had not been destroyed, they had taken control of the Ministry, and their world could finally start healing again. But some wounds, she knew, could never be healed. For some things, it was too late.

“Excuse me,” she told Dumbledore, and got up from her seat. He followed her with his eyes, but did not say a thing. She went to sit with Ron and Ginny.

“I was just asking him about - well, Harry sort of tried to kiss me earlier,” Ginny explained. “Um, not your Harry, but from what Ron says...”

“Yeah,” Hermione said. She tried to smile, but she wasn’t sure anymore whether she was relieved or happy or sad. “I was a bit surprised you didn’t notice how he was looking at you the whole time we were over - at your world, I guess.” She thought about it for a moment. “He still cares a lot about you.”

“I didn’t realise,” Ginny said quietly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione answered. Her gaze met Ron’s. 

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

Ginny looked at the two of them in confusion.

“But you know, I think you’re sort of my sister-in-law?”

“Sort of,” Hermione said.

“Except not really,” Ron muttered. 

“We never got married,” she told Ginny, pretending this was what Ron was talking about, even though she knew it wasn’t. “We planned to, but - you know.”

“Hard to get married when you’re running for your life.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I used to think about it,” Ron said all of a sudden. “Plan it in my head. How Mum will insist on doing the cooking like she did in Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and perhaps we could even do it in the Burrow, or maybe at the Hogwarts grounds.”

“Guests will be dancing, and we will book the Weird Sisters,” Hermione mused. “And all my family would go ‘Who are these freaks?!’.

“We will get some Muggle bands, too,” Ron said with certainty. “Who’s popular now in the Muggle world?”

“How should I know?”

“We’ll find out. And book them. And Mum will think it’s odd noise and complain we should have got Celestina Warbeck.”

“And Fleur will complain how much she hates Celestina Warbeck,” Hermione couldn’t help the smile. 

“And then the guests. Luna and old Xenophilius Lovegood will come all in yellow again, like they did in Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

“And we’ll have to invite Viktor Krum,” Hermione said. Ron laughed in response.

“Fine, but if your ex is coming then so is mine. Lavender will be there. Wearing _lilac_.”

“It clashes horribly with her hair,” Hermione said.

“And Harry and Ginny will dance all night long.”

“And so will we.”

“It will be the best damn wedding in the world,” he said.

“It would have been,” she whispered. 

Ginny looked at the two of them, completely lost.

They rejoined the rest of the group then, but Ron was quiet and subdued, and so was she. They had won, yes, but now, more than ever, they realised it was not the victory they were hoping for.

“Maybe we should do it anyway,” Ron whispered in her ear. “Maybe we should go with them. No one’s in danger now, this world is safe. And if we go back with them...”

“We could look in the Mirror of Erised all day long and never get tired,” she completed the sentence for him, thinking of Harry’s words.

“Sort of, yeah.”

She thought now of what Ron said. The other Ron. This world needed her. Needed someone like her. Maybe there was still danger. Maybe there was still the risk, and if not from Death Eaters, then from what the Death Eaters had forced them to become. She didn’t know. 

There was nothing more she wanted to do than go through the Mirror of Erised and have a perfect life. In front of her, Harry and Sirius were deep in conversation, and Luna was discussing Nargles with anyone who was willing to listen - in this case, Albus Dumbledore, and Neville was exchanging jokes with Severus Snape. 

But all this, she knew, wouldn’t last. 

In this dream, Harry - the other Harry - and Ron - the other Ron - got on their feet. “I think it’s time we went home,” Harry said quietly.

Don’t go yet, she wanted to say. But instead, she nodded. “Ginny and - and Hermione, they must be missing you terribly,” she said.

“They must be worried half to death,” Ron added quietly. Her Ron. 

They couldn’t use the device within Hogwarts, of course. Too much magic, Dumbledore had said. It interfered with the Muggle technology. They had to go to Hogsmeade.

There were no celebrations in Hogsmeade. Not the fireworks Hermione had imagined before. Neither were there any shooting stars. The people of Hogsmeade woke up in the morning, went to sleep at night, and lived their lives as if nothing was happening around them. They had learned in twelve long years that this was the best strategy for survival, and now, in these questionable and uncertain times, they stuck with their routine. It could not hurt them. 

When they passed wizards and witches in the street, their entire group was met mostly with suspicion and worry. There were no cheers for the people who had changed wizarding society forever, no amazement at the impossible dead people who were walking down the streets of Hogsmeade. People seemed more afraid of retribution than happy with the fall of the Ministry. Hermione wasn’t sure she blamed them.

They continued to the Three Broomsticks in silence.

Padma was the first to pause, right in front of the pub. She looked at the snow - white, clean, new. She touched it with the tips of her fingers. “Is she alive?” she asked quietly. “In that world of yours?”

Hermione wasn’t sure which one she was asking - Harry and Ron, who were about to return to a world where Voldemort had been defeated a dozen years ago, or Dumbledore and his group, about to return to a world that had survived the long war and was still whole.

“Yes,” two people said together - Harry and James Potter. They looked at one another for a moment after that. They really did look like father and son.

“Yes,” James said now. Harry just nodded. 

“That’s nice,” Padma said quietly. 

“We better leave,” Harry said. Then looked around. “I’m not quite sure whether I should say goodbye -”

“Oh, just go already,” Anthony said, but he was obviously joking. Harry burst out in laughter. 

“Yeah,” he said, amused. “Sounds like a good idea.” 

Dumbledore gave him the box, and explain how to activate it.

“Are we sure it’s going to bring us home?” Ron looked at the thing with trepidation.

“Quite sure, Mr Weasley. If it does not... well, you’re always welcome to complain to me.”

Harry smiled. “See you lot later,” he said, then activated the box. With a flash of white light, the two of them were gone.

Dumbledore picked up the small box from the snowy ground. 

“How long do you think it will take them to forget all about us?” Ron asked quietly next to her.

“I hope they’ve already forgotten,” she answered truthfully.

They looked at one another, and none of them knew quite what to do next.

“And now,” Dumbledore said gravely, “there’s another decision to be made.”

**31st December, 2010, 11:55 p.m.**

_You can stay here and rebuild your world. Or you can come with us to the world that is already built, and leave the work to others. Each and every one of you. We will not judge you, whatever your decision may be._

Like Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley had no celebrations that evening. And a part of it, the Leaky Cauldron stood deserted.

Tom, the original owner of the pub, was dead. The Death Eater, who had received the establishment after Tom was sent to Azkaban, had fled when the fighting started. Or, perhaps, he stood his ground and fought, and was now one of the dead or captured Death Eaters in the Ministry. 

Whatever his fate was, it was clear what had happened with the patrons. Overturned chairs, meals that were still on the tables, and broken glass everywhere, the small pub looked like it had suffered a stampede. The Death Eaters’ customers had probably not even waited to see the results of the fight. 

Ron waved his wand. The dark room was filled with light. “Think we should rearrange this place?” he asked her. She shrugged. Someone would get to it, eventually. Right now, no one even knew who was the legal owner of the pub.

Outside, she could hear Albus Dumbledore’s voice, as he waved his wand, but this time, not making war. This time, Albus Dumbledore was helping the rest of them find the wounded, those who were buried under the debris and the destroyed buildings, trying to save whatever life they could. 

You can stay here and rebuild your world, he had said. Or you can leave the work to others. 

She didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet. She didn’t have an answer yet. And Dumbledore was willing to wait. He had said so himself. 

“Look,” Ron called from the other side of the room. She took a few steps towards him. It was a copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Yesterday’s copy. No newspaper had been published today. 

“What is it?” she asked. What could possibly be in the newspaper that would be of interest to them?

“Argentina was flattened by Angola in the World Cup preliminaries,” he said.

“You think England will need to play again for its spot?” she asked, distracted. How did _that_ work, really?

Ron looked just as confused. “I don’t know,” he said. “You think the players were Death Eaters?”

“I doubt they were Death Eaters, but I don’t know what else they were.”

“Yeah, Ministry-approved team, can’t be worth too much,” he said absently. 

She turned her head to the right just as he turned his to the left. Their eyes met by accident, half way through the movement. She paused, and so did he. She could see it, in his eyes. His answer to Dumbledore. And she knew it was the same answer as hers.

She thought they would have to discuss it, to talk about it. That it would take days. Take your time, Dumbledore had said. Think it over. We won’t be going anywhere, not before you have decided. Our world can wait a little bit longer.

We will not judge you, whatever your decision will be.

But they had made their decision already, the both of them. Ron could see it, too. He reached with his hand to her, touched her shoulder, then pulled her for a hug. 

“It’s going to be alright,” he promised. 

“Yeah,” she agreed and sniffled, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Yeah, it’s going to be alright.”

She didn’t want to let go of him. She didn’t want to think of tomorrow, of next year, not even of the next five minutes. Just the here and now, and let them worry about everything else later.

“It’s going to be alright,” he said again. 

Finally, she let go of him. He would have held her longer, she knew. He could stay in that moment forever, just as long as she could. But eventually, things would have to move forward. They couldn’t stay there forever, no matter how much they wanted to. The world would still move forward in the end, with or without them, and there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

Now she looked at him, and he wiped her tears away and kissed her gently. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go talk to the others.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s.”

They left the Leaky Cauldron, through the brick wall, and into Diagon Alley.

The damage was worse than she had imagined. Apart from the old pub, not a single building was whole. The bookshop had burnt to the ground; there was no trace of Ollivander’s. Borgin and Burke’s had suffered a similar fate, but she paid no mind to the Death Eater shop. Gringotts, too, had suffered the results of the attack - she could see, even from afar, the small goblins and the taller wizards, who were trying to clean the debris from the bank’s entrance.

Even the small house, where they had lived and hidden for years under the protection of the Fidelius charm, had been destroyed in the battle. 

At the other side of the road, next to what was left of Madam Malkin’s Robes for Every Occasion, she could see the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore, commanding the wizards and trying to clear the stones. Someone was buried under there, she realised. Perhaps Madam Malkin.

What a way to begin the new year.

“Oh my god,” she said, and without realising it, her hand covered her mouth.

“What is it?” Ron asked. She could hear the worry in his voice. How silly of her - she had worried him, and all for a ridiculous thing as this.

“I just thought - what time is it?”

“What?” 

“What time is it?”

“Er...” he looked at his watch. “Twenty past midnight? Give or take a few minutes, anyway. Is this important?”

“Not really. I just thought... it’s the new year. It’s 2011.”

“Yeah.”

They looked at each other, and a grin appeared on Ron’s face. “I s’pose it’s not really important whether it’s midnight or a bit after.”

“No,” she agreed. “I don’t think it does.”

“And twenty minutes, that really isn’t that much time.”

“No,” she said, biting down the smile. “Not a lot of time at all.”

“Especially not compared to twenty four hours.”

“Or a week.”

“Or a month.”

“Exactly.”

“And,” Ron continued, “this watch it rubbish. It’s probably running too fast. It could be... ten minutes after midnight.”

“Ten minutes,” she said in a mock serious voice, “that’s almost like midnight.”

“Yeah, it is. We could fake a countdown.”

“Does there have to be a countdown?” she asked. “I don’t think there _has_ to be a countdown.”

“Isn’t it a Muggle tradition?”

She shrugged. “Muggles are much more flexible in their traditions than wizards,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

He looked again at Dumbledore. “They waited this long for our answer, they could wait a little longer.”

“I don’t think they even expect an answer now,” she said.

“Yeah, what’s five minutes more?”

“Five?!”

“Well, maybe only three,” he amended. 

“Two...”

“One...”

“Happy new year,” she whispered. Ron leaned down and kissed her.

Around them, Diagon Alley lay in ruins.


End file.
